


Born of a Sign That Carries Vessels

by sonicSymphony



Series: Aquarius [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Depression, F/M, Gen, Humanstuck, Minor Character Death, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicSymphony/pseuds/sonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short oneshots from the <i>Aquarius</i> universe that currently includes getting caught the morning after, snippets from Eridan's childhood, the awkward aftermath of yet another fight with Ampora Senior, a beach party, a pesterlog between Eridan and Kanaya, a Christmas special, Kanaya dealing with an upset Eridan, an opportunity for reconciliation, sickfic, a post-reconciliation beach trip, a very, <em>very</em> bad day, even more sickfic, another goddamn Christmas party, a high-off-anesthesia Eridan, Spring Break mid-fight Eridan + Glenys, and Feferi trying to get Eridan to smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> _**Summary:**_ Just when you thought you'd be getting some alone time with Fef, at _her house_ for once, her family just _had_ to ruin it by coming home early and finding you in bed together. You've had a lot of terrifying moments in your life, and this is going to rank with the worst of them.
> 
> For new readers: you don't need to go and read the others to be able to understand this. While there are certain elements that may confuse you at first, nothing should be too hard to grasp.
> 
> For returning readers: since this series isn't the main thing I'm working on and its chronology isn't exactly something I'm focusing on, I'm adding this as an open story for shorter oneshots that don't necessarily fit in with the order of the first two. The chapters will stay within the low thousands in terms of word count, and will take place either before _A Month That Brings Just Ice_ , show little moments during the scope of the series that I didn't add, or take place after the entire thing is over. They will not be in date order, though I will give you a month and year to help with confusion.
> 
> This one takes place in May of 2013, at the end of Eridan and Feferi's senior year. The title of this particular part is _Surprise Homecoming_ , which is a shitter title than usual (though my titles are _always_ pretty shitty). As for an explanation, I didn't use a lyric from _Aquarius_ by Regina Spektor [shocker]. I just sort of put something.

You wake to the door of your room slamming, followed by loud footsteps pounding down the stairs. The only thoughts in your head are comprised of the word _what_ repeated over and over again, because there aren’t any stairs in your room and there shouldn’t be a _girl_ in your house. It all begins to make a bit more sense when you realize that _no_ , you're not at home, but _where_ the fuck are you, then? As something warm shifts and mumbles into your chest, you realize _oh_. You had sex with Fef last night.

It wasn't the first time you'd done so—you've been sleeping with her for an _amazing_ month, most of the activity taking place at your house, since it was usually just you living there with your dad up at the base and Cronus wherever the fuck he goes. However, Meenah and Glenys had decided to go to their cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains for a couple of nights, and Fef couldn't go because of AP testing. They'd offered to postpone a week or two, but Fef said that she wouldn't really want to go anyway, so for the past two nights you've been staying over, making each other food, cuddling while watching movies on Netflix, and having lots of sex _everywhere_ —in her bed, on a blanket in the backyard under the stars, in the shower. Shower sex, while not the most comfortable, is the _best_.

But now, you hear someone coming up the stairs when no one is supposed to be home and Fef is pushing herself into a sitting position when you realize _oh fuck they came home a day early._

There's rapid knocking on the door, and at least Fef is lucid enough to call out sleepily, "Just a minute!" She raises a hand to wipe sleep out of her eyes and all you can do is stare with what your sure is a dopey smile on your face as you take in all of her: wide hips and perky breasts, freckled shoulders, wiry muscle. She catches you staring and giggles, sweeping some hair behind her ear and saying, "Look while you still can, because we're about to be murdered." She throws the covers off of both of you, and you groan at the sudden cold. "Grab my waist."

You slide over to her and do as she instructed, still not sitting up. Your face is pressed against her spine, right on top of one of her surgery scars as she bends over and grabs clothes off of the floor. Snuggling in closer, you start placing slow kisses on her back until she squirms and asserts that while she appreciates the gesture, now is _not_ the time. "Look, I know you're both in there," Glenys calls from the hallway, and you can't tell if she's angry or disappointed. You're not sure which you'd rather have her be. "Get dressed and come down to the kitchen, _now_."

Fef tosses you your shirt first, and your boxer briefs follow soon after. You pull both on, only realizing that you have it on backwards when you look down and don't see a Water Tribe emblem. After fixing it, you look over at Fef, seeing that she's wearing her tank top from last night (sans bra), lace panties, and is currently pulling on a pair of workout shorts. There are no other articles of clothing to be found, but you’re sure there's _something_ missing...

That's when Fef turns to you, deathly calm, and asks, "Eridan, where are your pants?"

It takes you a minute to remember where you shed them because you have to retrace your steps. Let's see: yesterday morning, you woke up at around 11:00am because it's a Saturday, and for once Fef slept in with you. You woke her up in a very pleasant manner, then carried her into the bathroom so you both could shower. After the water ran cold, you got dressed and went downstairs to fry up some bacon and eggs while Fef did a crossword at the table, reading out every other clue to you while you cooked. At one point, she'd made a comment about you looking like a perfect little househusband except without the bathrobe and slippers, so you'd wanted to mix things up a little, leading you to...

You'd shed your pants and tossed them over one of the chairs, where they still are.

 _Fuck_.

Fef looks at you like she'd been patiently waiting for you to come to the conclusion that your pants are _downfuckingstairs_ with her family, and all you can do is stare at her sheepishly. "I think I have swim trunks in the bathroom?"

She sighs and slides off the bed into her wheelchair before heading off to the bathroom to retrieve them, trying her best to be stealthy. You could've gone yourself but she said that if her grandma or sister were still upstairs, you might be tied to a stake and burned. In the mean time, you force yourself out of bed—which is practically the comfiest thing money can buy, and though you don't have back issues like Fef does, you've gotten the best nights of sleep you can have (insomnia is one of the prevalent symptoms of your depression, and Prozac isn't really helping you there; you'll probably have to switch again soon, even though you’re getting really fucking sick of medication hopping). However, perhaps only a part of sleeping better can be contributed to the bed, and the rest to the person there with you.

After you fetch your glasses from the nightstand, you come to stand in front of the long mirror that stretches from the floor by her closet to the top of the door and try to fix your hair. The unkemptness of it practically _defines_ "fell asleep after sex" so you steal Fef's hairbrush to try to get it in some amount of order, which makes it look less styled than usual and, honestly, sort of ridiculous. You’d put some gel in it, but your bottle is in the bathroom too, and you really doubt immaculately fixing your hair is going to help with the situation. As you shake your head to try and make it look semi-normal, Fef comes back into the room, tossing your bathing suit at your face and saying, "They're both down stairs. I’d hurry if I were you."

Gulping, you slide on your swim trunks and head down with her. The short elevator ride down is all the time you need to stop feeling so lethargic and start panicking— you’re terrified they’ll hate you, embarrassed that Meenah came in (though you were both pretty covered up; just think what would’ve happened if she found you guys _while you were fucking_ ), and even _more_ terror that stems from the fear you’ll never be allowed to come back and lose the only family you have left. It’s like an anxiety filled negative emotion sandwich.

When you dad caught Cronus having sex with a girl, the punishment was harsh, since there is an explicit “no girls in the house with the door closed” rule, and it was obviously violated. After the girl left, the first thing he did was sit Cronus down in front of a computer and made him watch a _graphic_ video of someone giving birth. Restricted privileges were next—since he could actually enforce them because he was on a two-month leave—which included putting parental controls on the Internet and television and taking away his truck. He was firm but not angry, as his disappointment in your brother was the most prevalent of his emotions. He hasn’t been trusted since, though you think a guy like him shouldn’t be. 

You won’t be able to handle it if Glenys changes her mind about you and you end up a Cronus in her head. This family is all you have.

“Calm down,” Fef murmurs to you, catching your hand and rubbing her thumb over your knuckles. “She can smell fear.”

Oh, like _that_ helped.

Meenah is nowhere to be found when you enter the kitchen. Glenys, however, is sitting at the table, hands folded in front of her and mouth sculpted into a frown. Your pants are still hung over the chair to her right and you try _really_ hard not to look at them, because maybe she hasn’t noticed, though perhaps you turning bright red to the tips of your ears is a clue. After sliding in the chair directly across from her, you feel Fef settle in to your left, and then silence reigns.

Tension builds, and you keep trying to make eye contact but the second you do, the lump in your throat gets bigger and you have to look away. You fold your arms on the table, which is an awkward movement when your shoulders are so hunched, and mess with the one ring you never take off, on the middle finger of your left hand. If you _could_ say something, it wouldn’t be a good idea because both you and Fef know that in situations like this, you _always_ let her grandma speak first. Minutes tick by, dread building in you since you know that for every second of silence, the consequences are going to be even _worse_. By the ten-minute mark, you have to bite your lip to keep it from trembling.

Finally, she sighs, putting her head in her hands and saying, “Eridan, stop looking like you’re gonna cry, it’s making me less angry.”

You swallow about ten times before you can speak. “Sorry.”

It gets quiet again, but before the clock on the oven can tick to 8:04am, Fef bursts out, “We’re being safe!”

Years of self-control are the only thing that keeps you from banging your head into the table. Glenys, however, cracks a smile, clasping her hands together in front of her and drawling, “Well that’s good to know, one less conversation we have to have. Are you relying on your birth control, Feferi, or are you using condoms?”

“Condoms, too,” she answers, relaxing noticeably while you remain apprehensive and twitchy. “There’s no such thing as being too careful!” The lightness of her voice is forced, but only someone who knows her as well as you do would be able to tell.

“How long has this been going on?” Glenys questions. “I’m not even sure how long you two have been dating! There wasn’t a clear transition.”

You decide to answer this one, though your voice is a bit shaky. “W-well, when you’re as close as Fef and I have been all these years, there’s not a lot that can change in our dynamic. We were already intimate— _emotionally_ , I mean, n-not physically just yet—and not a lot really _changed_ except now we…” You trail off, shrugging. She should know where this is going. You can feel the tips of your ears getting red again.

Glenys sighs, the corner of her mouth tugging up in an almost bitter movement. “I don’t really have a right to be mad because the ‘no boys in your room’ rule has always exempted Eridan. I should’ve seen this coming. Just…” she closes her eyes and huffs out a breath through her nose, resting her head on her folded hands, “please don’t do anything when someone’s home. No one wants to see or hear anything, and _please_ , keep being safe. I remember what I was like as a teenager, and—”

“I don’t need to hear anymore,” Fef breaks in quickly. She sighs in obvious relief and says, “Thank you for not killing us.”

Smirking, Glenys points a finger at the both of you and says, “Now if I catch you two again, there are going to be consequences. Feferi, you now have to keep your door open if Eridan’s over when we’re home. When I’m not here, keep all activities to your room, and if you get pregnant, I will skin both of you. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you respond as Feferi says, “yeah.”

“I’m glad we had this talk,” Glenys nods, getting up from that table. “Eridan, please take your pants and _never_ remove them in my kitchen again.”

 _Fuck_ , you think, standing up and grabbing them. Glenys ponders aloud, “I think he’s gonna turn into a tomato if he keeps blushing that much.”

“Don’t worry about anything we may have done in here,” Feferi asserts, looking up at you and smiling devilishly. “He only took them off because he was cooking and wanted to feel like less of a weenie.”

You stick your tongue out at her. Glenys seems to have an idea, so she turns to you and says, “Eridan, I’m punishing you. Do you know how to make omelets?”

Half an hour later, Meenah is coming downstairs, hair wrapped in a towel from her shower. Glenys had just left to go take her luggage upstairs, so the oldest Peixes sibling takes the opportunity to grin at the two of you and deliver high fives. “Look at my little guppies, all grown up and getting laid,” she says, reaching up to ruffle your hair. Though you usually _loathe_ it when she does it, you’re so relieved that nobody’s mad at you that you forget to care. “It feels kind of like incest, but hey, the Targaryens did that so I can dig it. That doesn’t mean that I want to see you two naked the second I get back from a long fucking trip though; we had to leave in the middle of the night because it started _pouring_ and apparently the roof has tons of fucking leaks, and we didn’t want to deal with that shit. I do not need more fuel for my nightmares.”

“Sorry if we scarred you for life,” Feferi laughs.

You snort, turning over Meenah’s bacon and cheese omelet. Hers is the last one, and you’re keeping the others warm by popping them in the oven at a low heat. “I’m not.”

She flips you the bird, and you send her an innocuous grin as she grumbles, “At least you’re finally wearing your fucking pants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect more of these, because there are multiple in the works even though I'm trying to get through the first act of Eugenicstuck by the time this hiatus is over. If you have any questions, redweddingcrashers.tumblr.com is the best place to ask them.


	2. Snippets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from the childhood of Eridan Ampora, most of which focus on one Feferi Peixes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: if you came from Tumblr and this is the first you've seen of _Aquarius_ , you can read this first; this is the earliest any of the fics have taken place.
> 
> I wrote these little snippets before anything else the in the _Aquarius_ universe, and I thought they sucked so I never posted them. They're only seeing the light of day now because I feel guilty, since I haven't finished Hopeless Wanderers or worked more on Eugenicstuck. Anyway, hopefully these aren't too awful. Also, if you're uncomfortable with funerals and such, you may want to skip the section labelled **Ten**. The numbers in bold at the top of each section represent Eridan's age as each segment is occurring. The pacing is fucked up and now that I look back on these four little sections I wonder why I chose to include the second one, but whatever.

**Six**

 

On the third day of first grade, she comes and sits by you because the seahorse plushie sticking out of your backpack is an aquatic partner to her cuttlefish one. When she asks if she can hold it, you just bite your lip and nod because if you speak you’ll trip inelegantly over your words and you don’t want her to think you’re stupid like everyone else does. For a few minutes she plays with them by herself, and you’re already enamored with her from just watching. When she introduces herself as Feferi Peixes, you manage to choke out, “Eridan Ampora” without challenge. You can at least do that much right.

She’s taller than you by several inches and has more freckles on her cheeks than there are stars in the sky. Her dark brown hair is the longest of anyone’s in your class, and she’s boasted to you that it’s only ever been cut twice. Even though she talks so much it could be considered annoying and makes all of your coloring decisions for you, you love her immediately, because she doesn’t make fun of your stutter and you’ve never had a friend before.

You spend the days drawing seascapes in bright crayon and learning whatever you can. At recess, neither of you can stay off the jungle gym and monkey bars. The best parts of the day are your elaborate games of pretend, whether you’re playing wizards or cowboys or aliens. Even when you’re not at school you and Fef are always together, playing in the waves at the beach or camped out in a tent in her backyard, reading scary stories and venturing outside to learn constellations. It’s easy to get together because she lives in the same neighborhood as you do, though her estate is a few streets down from yours. She’s your best friend in the whole wide world, and you are hers. There’s no taking that away from you.

* * *

 

**Eight**

 

People have started to tell you that playing pretend is for babies, and almost everyone who used to sometimes join you during your games have abandoned you completely for some stupid sport called soccer, which you can’t play because it involves tons of running and you have really bad asthma. You try to play with them once, even though you thought the game was stupid, and near the end you fall down because you can’t breathe and they have to stop the game.

The school has to call your mom. Karkat Vantas sits with you and sympathizes, because he has asthma too, even though it isn’t as bad as yours. His brother Kankri had it worse, apparently, and he grew out of it, so maybe you will too. It’s supposed to be hopeful, but all you can focus on right now is trying not to die. 

Feferi comes running over about five minutes later, and it hurts that she didn’t notice sooner. Mrs. Calliope makes Karkat leave because too many kids would “crowd you” and make the attack worse. Fef wastes no more time, holding your hand and using chatter as a form of comfort. When one of the teachers moves to berate her for getting so close to you, Mrs. Calliope stops him, because she knows that your girl is good for you. She may be the only thing that is.

Soon, your mom shows up with your inhaler and she helps you breathe, and within a few minutes you’re able to walk shakily to the car and leave school, even though the nurse is mad that your parents never turned in a spare to have at their disposal just in case this sort of thing happened. The hand Fef was holding aches, and you feel like hers must hurt even worse, because you’re only now realizing that you were gripping it really, _really_ hard. You hope she didn’t get hurt.

She comes over when school ends, and it’s only then when you start to feel humiliated by what happened. You lock yourself in the bathroom before you see her and cry, but her sister taught her how to pick locks so she gets in after a minute and holds you until your shoulders stop shaking, saying nothing.

You apologize for holding onto her hand so tightly earlier, and she says it’s fine because you needed her. That comment doesn’t sit well with you so you snap that you don’t need anybody, but her bottom lip starts to tremble and her eyes get huge so you hug her and apologize _again_ because you’ve always been the crybaby of your duo and the one time you saw her cry you absolutely _hated_ it. You never want to see it again.

* * *

 

_—fuck, why did you open the door don’t you know how to fuckin knock—no no no get back in here you’re a part of this now you little shit get the fuck over here—_

* * *

**Ten**

 

She’s dead. Your mother’s dead. 

When it happens, you aren’t there because you dad sent you and Cronus home to get some sleep. The doctors thought she had a couple of more days, but they were wrong. This kills you inside, but what kills you even more is that your older brother couldn’t care less. You already knew that he was a complete sack of shit, but this confirms it. 

The next couple of weeks pass in a blur. Funeral plans are made, people that you don’t even know seek you out and apologize for something that they had no control over so _why the fuck are they telling you they’re sorry_? You come to the conclusion that it’s to make themselves feel better; the world is full of selfish bastards.

Your mom was never selfish. She was quite the opposite, always putting you and your brother above everything else. She volunteered at the soup kitchen on Wednesdays and ran church fundraisers and cared for every living soul and _goddammit she was so, so good,_ why _did she leave you_? You have so many angry questions that nobody has the answers to.

When the day her viewing and funeral comes, your father makes you put on one of your lame suits; it has to be all black and dour, even though you tried to fight that the dark purple tailcoat with golden accents was her favorite. He said it wasn’t proper funeral attire and that was the end of that.

The viewing is horrible. You have to stand next to your mother’s open casket and get hugged by overly perfumed strangers, most of which you’ve never met in your entire life. Cronus is on one side of your dad, slumping with the lines of a pack of cigarettes barely visible in his right pocket, and you’re on the other. This makes you the closest one to the casket. You hate looking over at her, because she looks more like a store mannequin than your mother.

Feferi and her grandmother are some of the last to come, because Glenys’s hip is starting to bother her a lot and they didn’t want to have to wait in line forever. Your Fef hugs you, and you tell her that she looks beautiful in her gray and white dress, which is a welcome change from all the black. You knew she’d be different. She squeezes you tighter and doesn’t say she’s sorry because she knows you won’t be able to stand any more apologies.

They have to move on fast because the service is starting soon. A few minutes later you’re walking into the church next door to the funeral home and you beg your dad to let you sit with Fef, because they’re sitting in the back and you know you’re going to start crying and everyone will see if you’re in the front, but he just places a firm hand on your shoulder and guides you past them. Your lip trembles and you bite it when Cronus leans over and murmurs in your ear that you’re a wimp that better not start bawling in front of everyone. You swallow your tears. 

Later, though, near the end of the dull service that you’re sure your mother would’ve hated (if _she’d_ planned it, your father and the priest wouldn’t have been the only ones allowed to speak, and there’d be music and stories and lots of seafood), you have to let a couple of tears fall, but they’re silent and since you don’t wipe your face until you’re sure Cronus isn’t looking, so you doubt he notices.

Finally the church part is over, and you get into your dad’s shiny black Jaguar and drive to the cemetery about two miles away. Oak trees—branches draping with Spanish moss that filters the sunlight—line the entrance, making the scene elegant yet slightly mystical in the setting sun. This particular graveyard is one of the most beautiful spots in town, and you know of a girl who spends a lot of time here even though she has no reason to. You sort of understand why, on an aesthetic level, but you would never be able to stomach being around so much _death_ all the time.

Though the landscaping and position is absolutely gorgeous (in the coming years, you’ll discover this completely as you will explore and find that when you get past the far back—which has graves dating back to the 1700s—you’ll find a river that bends around the tip of the island and out into the ocean and a grove of trees that are perfect for climbing), you feel that you’ll never be able to feel anything but negative things about the cemetery. The fact that it is so beautiful offends you, because such a horrible place has no right to bewitch you like this. 

Your dad puts an arm around both you and your brother. It’s an awkward arrangement; while Cronus somehow managed to be taller than him, your head barely reaches his shoulder. Neither of them have shed a tear, and though you want to rip into them and scream that they must have never loved her like you did, all you do is manage to get rid of the hideous lump in your throat by swallowing about ten times.                                 

Within twenty minutes, everything is over and people are starting to leave, though some of them will end up at your house for refreshments ( _fuckin freeloaders_ ). The casket was lowered into the ground and funeral workers are currently throwing dirt on top of it, and each time you see a shovel flash in the air you cringe. You almost want to stick around and watch to get some closure and to make sure that someone she loves is there as the actual burying part commences, but you know that your dad will say no so you don’t even ask. 

You manage not to cry too hard, sticking to silent tears like you did in the church. Earlier in the service, the sound of some of your mother’s friends crying could be heard from behind you, and it was making you extremely uncomfortable.

However, only one person is crying now, and that’s Fef. When you turn around and see her standing alone off to the side (her grandmother couldn’t stand for that long and went to the car as soon it as it was appropriate), biting her knuckle and trying to hold back sobs. Her favorite mascara that she only wears for special occasions is running down her face and her eyes are closed, so she doesn’t see you rapidly approaching.

In moments you have her swallowed in your embrace as you try to choke back tears of your own. You hate hate _hate_ seeing her cry; it makes your stomach churn and chest ache. She’ll tell you later—when everyone else finally leaves your house and you’re alone in your room watching _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ reruns—that she cried so you wouldn’t have to. 

It is then, in your pajamas, watching TV and tearing into a carton of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream, that you start thinking. Really _thinking_ , about how she’s always been there for you through everything, and she’s the only person that can make you happy by just _being_ with you. Seeing her smile makes your stomach feel warm and even her most incessant, insignificant chatter is welcome. 

…Maybe she’s given you cooties. You thought you were too old for them, but perhaps that's not the case.

* * *

 

**Eleven**

When they ask, you tell them you don’t remember much about what happened during the accident, even though you can easily recall the event in its entirety. It’s easier that way, and people believe you without a hitch because your injuries are a concussion and a cut on your forehead.  Slight amnesia is common with head injuries in traumatic situations, the doctor says, and the memories may come back in time. You’d gotten the bump from hitting the window and then bouncing into the metal bar of a beach umbrella that was wedged between you and Fef.

…Oh God, _Fef_.

You insisted that you had to sit in the seat behind the driver, because for some weird reason you feel carsick when you don’t sit there. (All you can think about now, though, is that you were only sick that one time _years_ ago, and it probably had nothing to do with sitting on the opposite side of the car.) Fef liked that side too, and when you were in town you and Fef alternated, but you were driving back from Jacksonville a whole forty minutes away. You argued; Feferi just gave in to shut you up, and most of the ride was filled with silence until there was a really loud screeching noise. After that, you really _don’t_ remember what happened except lots of loud noises and someone crying; you don’t know if it was Feferi or Ms. Glenys or maybe even you. 

Dad was in town for the weekend, luckily, and he was able to handle you better than Cronus would have on his own (he didn’t even come to the hospital, and you were very grateful for this). Glenys only had a little bit of whiplash in her neck and a knot on her forehead from hitting the steering wheel, since the minivan with the drunk guy who ran the stop sign hit the other side of the car near the back. 

No one will tell you what happened to Fef, but Glenys has been in talking to doctors for the past hour, and you heard words like “surgery” and “spinal cord” being thrown around before they went to a different area and left you and your dad in hard plastic chairs in a waiting room. Dad keeps trying to get you to go home and rest but you _can’t_ leave until you make sure she’s okay because _you’re_ the reason she was on that side of the car, and anything that happened to her in those moments is nothing but your fault. However, you don’t voice that particular thought, because you know you’d get reassured like a baby that you weren’t the cause, even though you understand clearly what you did.

You’ve just stopped crying for the umpteenth time when you hear, “How bad is he hurt?”

Your glasses had gotten lost somewhere in the wreckage, but when you look up to see who’d approached you easily are able to tell it’s Meenah. She’s tense and she sounds weird, and you don’t know if it’s your concussion making you hear things or if fearless, crazy, badass Meenah Peixes actually sounds _terrified_. 

“It’s just the stitches and a concussion, he’ll be okay,” your Dad says, patting you on the shoulder. “Glenys is in there,” he nods towards the double doors at the end of the hall. “She’s fine too, but Feferi…”

Meenah gulps once and looks as if she’s going to bolt, but then she falls down on her knees and hugs you tightly, squeezing all the air out of your lungs and before you can think to return it, she’s saying, “I’m so glad you’re okay, kid,” and getting up. She dashes down the hallway and is out of sight in moments.

You sit there numbly for an immeasurable amount of time. Eventually, Glenys and Meenah come out, looking tired and hopeless. Feferi’s grandmother hugs you and apologizes to your dad, but he just shakes his head and before he can ask where Fef is, you do.

There’s a considerable pause before she answers. “She’s…” her throat is closed up, and your insides tear at each other as you think, _Don’t say dead, oh please, if there is a God **please don’t let her be dead**_ ,  “she’s going to have to be in here for a while, Eridan.” She tries to put on a smile for you, but fails. “I’ll call you the second you can come by and visit, but for now it’s only family, okay?”

“But,” your lip starts trembling, and you blink rapidly to keep yourself from turning into a sobbing mess (again), “I thought I _was_ family.” You hate how you sound so pathetic, but that’s what you are.

Glenys hugs you a second time, saying, “You are sweetie, you _are_ , but she can’t see you right now, I’m sorry,” and then your dad is leading you out and you think that it’s because she doesn’t _want_ to see you. You cry the entire way home and into the morning.

_This is your fault._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eridan has always had really strong opinions.
> 
> So yeah hopefully that wasn't too painful. There may be another one of these coming out soon (there's one that's about halfway done) but I really need to work on other stuff so maybe not. I'll see where my muse takes me.


	3. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minor discussion of the immediate past and the near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short little something I typed out because it wedged itself in my head (most likely because I can't think of anything but college right now; at least Eridan and Feferi know they got into some really good schools, but I don't have that luxury). Anyway, it's not long at all and might be kind of awkward, but hey, it's something. Expect the next actual installment of _Aquarius_ [somewhat] soon!

You’ve been sitting on the steps of Peixes Manor for a couple of minutes now, staring a hole through your Vespa as you try and sort through your jumbled thoughts before heading inside. Of course, discussing things with Fef always has calmed you down in the past, but… you’re not sure if you’re actually _angry_ anymore. You certainly were when you walked out of your house, but that particular emotion was churning alongside of things like confusion, gloom, and uncertainty, because _what the fuck?_  

Sighing, you pick yourself up off the bricks and let yourself in. Knocking is a rare thing for you to do here—especially since you have your own key, for emergencies—and if makes the mansion seem more like a home to you. Your reason for coming over this time is simple: with your impending graduation from high school this Saturday, Glenys wanted a “family” movie night, like you used to have back in elementary school. The film will most likely be nautically themed and action packed, but you think the den setting will lack the blanket forts and snack piles of your youth.

When you enter the room, it seems that Meenah is also missing from her usual place on the far left side of the couch; you guess she’s out drinking with Aranea or something. Glenys is also gone from her armchair, but rustling from the direction of the kitchen tells you she’ll be back momentarily. Fef rolls her eyes and hangs up her phone as you plop down next to her on the couch, saying, “I was just calling you, as ‘fashionably late’ is pushing it at this point.”

She’s not mad at you, just a bit exasperated, so you figure that it won’t kill you if you put on a dejected face and lie down, putting your head on her lap and winding your arms around her waist. Fef has always been an anchor for you, helping to keep the boat of your consciousness tied to shore, even through all of your dramatics and shitty metaphors. Now, she doesn’t disappoint.

“Hey,” she murmurs, losing any edge that she had and winding her fingers through your hair, “what’s wrong?”

It’s kind of hard to put into words. “I just… had a fight with my dad? I think? I honestly don’t know,” you confess. “It certainly _started_ as a fight, but I don’t think it ended as one, if that makes and fucking sense.” You pause briefly. "It was really weird.”

Glenys comes into the room at this point, carrying multiple packs of movie candy, so you adjust your position so you’re no longer clinging to her granddaughter, but just using her legs as a pillow with your face towards the ceiling. You meet Fef’s eyes for the first time since your arrival, and both of your eyebrows quirk simultaneously.

“ _Open Water_ or _Master and Commander_?” Glenys asks, heading over to the Blu-ray case. “We weren’t sure.”

“ _Master and Commander_ ,” you choose, perking up a bit. You’ve seen it so many times, but hell, it’s a favorite.

“I told you he’d pick that one,” Fef says, sounding the tiniest bit irked, but you know she likes the movie too. “Anyway, how was the fight weird?”

Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, pushing your glasses up onto your forehead. “Okay, so you know how he was trying to make me apply to the naval academy?”

Fef exhales heavily. “Oh, not _this_ again.”

“Well, it’s not like I talked to him about it since our last blow out in September. Remember when he sent me the letter of recommendation from _your mother_ to attach to the application?” Sometimes it can be convenient that your girlfriend’s mom is a senator.

“Mhmm,” she replies, fingers still combing through your hair. The feeling makes you want to purr.

“So apparently, he thought since that went through I had no reason _not_ to apply, even though I probably wouldn’t get in because of my medical history and lack of sports and stuff. He’d sort of accepted that I wasn’t going to go there because he didn’t get an enthusiastic call a few months back that went something like, ‘Hey dad, guess what, I got into your alma mater that an Ampora of every generation goes to!’ but he was really mad that I didn’t even apply.”

The previews are playing and even though she can skip them, Glenys is letting them run their course. Maybe it’s because she wants to listen or interject. You’re proven right when she retorts, “Your rotten father should’ve taken more of an interest in your education back when he actually could’ve had an impact, if he wanted any hand in your future. The _nerve_ of that man.”

“All of this was settled _last year_ ,” Fef huffs. “Why is he bringing it up now?”

“I guess it’s because we’re graduating in four days and he remembered that _oh_ , he’s going to have to start paying for college soon,” you say. “But yeah, the whole naval academy thing was the start.”

“What did he say when you told him you got into Yale?” Fef asks. Then, her eyebrows pull together nervously as she demands, “You _did_ tell him you’re going to Yale, right?”

You want to lean up and kiss her forehead to smooth the lines away, but you’re too comfortable as you are to be moving any time soon. “Yeah,” you say quietly. Glenys covertly leans closer so she can hear. “And that’s where it all got weird.”

“How so?” Fef’s grandma asks.

“He…” Your throat closes up a little bit, because you still don’t really know what to think about his response. “He got really quiet and just _stared_ at me, like I’d unexpectedly slapped him across the face with a fish or something. Then he goes and says that he’s _proud_ of me, like the whole dialogue leading up to that didn’t just happen, before he just walks out of the room.”

Glenys snorts at this, muttering something under her breath that sounds like, _that fucking man,_ but she’s not a curser so that can’t be it _._ “He _should_ be proud of you!” Feferi exclaims. You startle at her outburst, and she notices, lowering her voice and taking some of the accusation out of it. “You’ve been working so hard, in school and mental state and everything else.” Something dawns on her face then, like she’s just now realizing why this is sort of significant, and she grows quiet as she waits for you to confirm.

“Yeah,” you say awkwardly, then clear your throat. “It was the first time that he ever did that. Y’know, say he was proud of something that I did. And I really wanted to yell at him,” you continue. “I wanted to lay into him and tell him everything that he’s inadvertently done and things that he’d be ashamed to know, but it turns out I couldn’t do that, since I’ve been trying to forget most of it. So… that was a thing.”

Turning to look at you, Glenys smiles, but there’s some anger still burning in her gaze, though it isn’t directed towards you. “Honey, he should be _more_ than proud of you after what you’ve accomplished. I know I’m _incredibly_ proud of the two of you.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was tearing up. “Oh, just look at you,” she says, more to herself than anyone else. “You’re going to be graduating and heading to the northeast and soon it’ll just be me in this empty old house. I have half a mind to find an apartment right between your schools.”

After a small pang of guilt, her words make you feel warm. While you’re in Connecticut, Fef is going to be about an hour and a half away at Columbia. You wonder how cold the winters are going to feel without someone to snuggle up to, but the distance isn’t nearly as bad as it could be, at least in regards to each other. It’s going to be weird not seeing her every day, though. You’ve worried about how she’ll be on her own, and you know she’s also been anxious about you, but you think the two of you will be okay.

“At least Meenah’s still going to be in-state,” Fef comforts, smiling weakly. Glenys has been much more of a mother to her than Cordelia has, and you know Fef’s going to miss her like crazy (and you probably will too).

“Also, you have a private jet,” you remind her.

Her chuckle is watery. “That means you won’t be getting rid of me any time soon.”

Then she hits ‘play’ on the title screen of the movie, and the familiar intro begins. You turn on your side so you can see the TV and get more comfortable while Fef removes one of her hands from your hair so she can grab ahold of yours. The entire setup is familiar, and you drink it all in while you can, because everything is going to change very soon.


	4. Water Carrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tradition established in many seaside towns is that if the water is warm and lightning isn’t splitting the sky, it’s a good day for a beach party. Every year, there are differences from the last as people grow up and it gets even more exciting to see your friends with their shirts off. Two days before Eridan Ampora's senior year of high school begins, the group of imbeciles he hangs around with decides to adhere to that tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to move _Water Carrier_ over here, because it doesn't quite fit the tone of the oneshots and I think it'll mesh a lot better here. So if you read it when it was independent, there's no need to read it again. For those of you just reading this for the first time, this installment is dedicated to me lovely beta for _Insurgency_ , derseandprospitcollide, who is a wonderful human being and if you're not following her on Tumblr, you should be.
> 
>  **I've rearranged the chapters and added a new one** so it goes Surprise Homecoming, Snippets, Pride, Water Carrier, Polyvore, The Christmas Special. The last chapter is new, so if you've come here as an old reader looking for new content on Christmas Day 2013, that's what you're looking for.

A tradition established in many seaside towns is that if the water is warm and lightning isn’t splitting the sky, it’s a good day for a beach party. Every year, there are differences from the last as people grow up and it gets even more exciting to see your friends with their shirts off. Radio stations are fought over, sand gets into uncomfortable places, and ankles are twisted as idiots do flips off the tops of lifeguard chairs.

But this year, it was decided that you wouldn’t be going to a public beach. Those had too many people and not enough space for all the bullshit that your group of losers likes to pull, so Gamzee Makara offered up his family’s new place—a giant mansion in one of the rich neighborhoods on the resort end of the island, with quite a big chunk of beachfront property—for a get-together.

Fef, as usual, organized the entire thing. She always loved to plan elaborate gatherings, from when she was seven and dragged you into her backyard for tea parties with her army of squiddles to when she was an integral member in the prom committee (this year, she’s already rallying to have prom at a fucking  _aquarium_ ), so when she said she’d be more than happy to put the entire thing together, she truly meant it. You never thought she’d be able to get everyone together by the time school started, but two days before your senior year begins, here you are, getting ready to go.

As most Floridian summer days are, it’s blisteringly hot and suffocatingly humid. Your t-shirt is already sticking to your back with sweat by the time you settle into your Taurus and start the engine, cranking the air conditioner and the radio respectively. Justin Furstenfeld croons into your ears as you throw the car into reverse and zip out of the driveway. 

You get to Fef’s house in thirty seconds flat, whipping through the wrap around driveway and making a complete stop between the ostentatious fountain and the front door. She’s already waiting for you, as you texted her about five minutes ago that you’d be coming, and she looks adorable sitting there wearing a loose tank top and shorts, even though she has an aversion to the damn things like you do. Her usual necklaces have been replaced with her trusty pink goggles, and she grins at you when you get out of the car. Popping the trunk, you lower the back seats so you can fit all of her shit in. 

It’s like she has a mental checklist, because as you load everything, she’s saying the name of each item all out loud, directing you to find certain things so she can be completely sure that they’re accounted for. “Towels?”

“Check.”

“Beach umbrella?”

“Check.”

“Cooler with water, soda, and watermelon.”

You flip open the lid of the red cooler to confirm its contents and shove it into a niche of the trunk. “I thought Gam was in charge of the drinks.”

Fef sighs, rolling her eyes as she fingers the goggles around her neck. “He IMed me this morning to say he looked all over his house and the only liquid they had was a cellar full of scotch and one bottle of Faygo, so I said I’d handle the drinks. Anyway, shovels?”

These aren’t the kind for building sandcastles and digging moats, but for creating craters in the sand that are deep enough to fit at least half the group and make the rim reach your chest. As you load them in, you comment, “People are going to think we’re burying dead bodies.”

She quirks an eyebrow, giving you what she thinks is a sinister smirk but is actually just cute as fuck; she does have a few looks under her belt that can make you wet your pants, but this isn’t one of them. “I’m always prepared for any turn of events, Eridan.”

You try and resist the urge to ruffle her hair. This fails, and she almost bites your hand off, but it’s worth it. You finish loading up the stuff, making sure to leave one of the seats in the back up for a certain little ball of fury as Fef gets situated in the passenger seat and exchanges Blue October for Florence + The Machine. After folding up her wheelchair and sticking it in the back, you’re off.

Karkat lives on an entire different side of town than you, but so does everyone else he feels comfortable driving with (except for Sollux, but he always gets Aradia and according to Kar, third wheeling with them is so much worse than riding scrunched up in your backseat), so someone has to make the sacrifice. Driving through the ghetto is never a pleasant experience for you, but it’s not nearly as threatening in daylight as it is when you drop Kar off in the middle of the night. As per fucking usual, he’s waiting on his stoop in all gray and black, scowling at the world and all of its inhabitants. 

You’re pulling away before he even shuts the door, and for that he slams it with enough force to rattle the entire car. “Hi, Karkat!” Fef greets him cheerfully. He just grunts.

Looking into the rearview mirror just causes you to make awkward eye contact with him. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since getting back from Miami, and of course it’s going to be all kinds of uncomfortable. (Hell, it’ll be the first time you’re seeing  _any_  of the stupid fucks you call friends, and only one other person knows that you’d been planning to never have to see any of them ever again.) You gulp as his grimace softens a little bit and he kicks the back of your seat. Something tells you that he’s going to attempt to crush your ribs later in some sort of bizarre display of affection.

“So how’s your summer been?” Feferi inquires as you pull onto the road that’ll take you ten miles away to the other side of town. You don’t have any directions other than take this, so Kar will have to fill you in; he’s been to this clown’s house more times than you can count.

“Reasonably uneventful, for once,” Karkat replies. “Kankri came back for a while to wave around his useless, pretentious philosophy degree and tried to tell me how to run my fucking life, but now he’s in DC or something. Frankly, he’s not my problem anymore. Has Meenah come back to visit?”

Since he was on the cusps of adolescence, Kar has had this stupid, hero-worshiping crush on Fef’s sister, and you really cannot see why. Maybe it’s because you’ve known her so long that she feels like your sister, or maybe the fact that she tried to drown you when you were seven turns you off, but there’s really no appeal there for you. When you bring up Kar’s little crush to the kid himself, he denies it and knees you in the balls.

“She left a couple of days ago,” Fef says, sounding a tiny bit relieved. “Aranea’s family invited her to go with them to the Galapagos Islands before they had to head back to school.”

“Good for her,” Kar comments, sounding a million miles away. You can feel it when his eyes flit back to you in the rearview mirror, but you don’t let yourself look at him. It’ll be awkward with him for a while, and probably with Kanaya too, but it’s not like you weren’t expecting that. “Maybe she’ll fuck one of those century old tortoises.”

Whelp.

It’s hard for an awkward silence to take place when Fef is emitting beams of positivity, but the quiet is certainly trying for it. You can feel it when Karkat takes his eyes off you and instead reaches for his phone to text someone, most likely Gamzee. The next person who speaks is Kar, over ten minutes later. “Turn here.”

You quickly brake and make a right into a gated community. Stopping next to the keypad, you look at Kar expectantly as you roll down the window. “2077.”

Typing that in opens the gate, and you drive through slowly. Kar’s directions take you into the back of the development to a house that’s the only one on the cul-de-sac, and what a house it is: it’s built like the fucking Pantheon, with thick, marble columns supporting the pitched roof and huge, wooden double doors that look like they should lead into a throne room. A small voice in the back of your head tells you that the Peixes estate is even more imposing and you’ve just been desensitized to it, but this place is still pretty fucking impressive.

“There’s a path that leads around the side of the house and to a boardwalk,” Kar says as he’s getting out of the car. “Feferi, you just head down there. Eridan and I will carry everything.”

Fef looks like she’s about to protest, but then they share a  _look_  that sets your teeth on edge. You almost drop the wheelchair that you’re hoisting out of the backseat, but somehow you keep the grip you have on it. In no time, Fef has disappeared around the side of the house and you’re alone with him.

A hard lump grows in your throat, but you think it’s more from nervousness than signaling you’re going to cry; you’ve had enough of that shit, and you’re certainly not going to start now. Instead, you put on your best haughty scowl and try to stare down Karkat Vantas.

You shouldn’t have even tried. He just sighs and narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s easier than one would think for him to be intimidating, since he’s five feet four inches of overbite, freckles, and fluff. “I was going to punch you,” he reveals bluntly. “I gave myself a pep talk and everything. The first thing I was going to do when I saw you was punch you across your stupid, pompous face.” Taking a deep breath, he continues, “It looks like someone else already beat me to it, though.”

Well, that’s true. The bruise from your fight with Cronus has faded, but it’s still yellow enough that other people know it’s there. In terms of a response, you just look at Kar and shrug helplessly.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and you can faintly hear Fef’s voice in the distance. They’ll be expecting you, so you need to get this awkward confrontation over with so you can get to actually trying to enjoy your day. “Look, Kar,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck, “would it help if I said I was sorry?”

He barks a laugh, but he’s not really amused. “Only if you mean it.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He gives you a look like,  _Do you know how awkward this is for me?_  and you return it with an  _of-fucking-course_. Huffing, he looks down at his feet. “Eridan, I…” His voice is even raspier than usual, “I… FUCK YOU!” His whole demeanor shifts in an instant, and oh he’s  _angry_ ; you’re tempted to say that he’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “Fuck you for thinking you could do something like that, fuck you for making me and Feferi and Kanaya worry ourselves sick about your stupid ass, and fuck you for thinking that none of us would fucking care!” he explodes. “Fuck you, fuck you,  _fuck you_!”

And then you’re almost being knocked to the ground. Hell, you  _would’ve_  fallen, but your back hit your car instead. Kar clings to you, taking a deep breath and before you can even think to return the gesture, he’s gone. “Just fucking talk to me before you do anything drastic, okay?” he demands. “It seems that you need me to watch your flamboyant ass all day long, so fine, I’ll do it, just don’t be an idiot.”

You don’t say  _“I was justified,”_  or  _“It’s hard and nobody fucking understands,”_  or  _“Why do you even_ care _?”_  The entire confrontation has made you feel sort of awful, but you’re sure not to let it show. After all that, the only thing you can bring yourself to say is, “Yeah, okay.”

Karkat exhales sharply through his nose. “I’m glad we’ve established this. You have to carry the cooler.”

* * *

 

Gamzee brought out the scotch anyway. He and Vriska are the only ones who get into it at first, but soon Terezi and Tavros join ( _wow_  Tav is a fucking lightweight) while you sit on a towel with Karkat and Kanaya, watching the rest of them make complete idiots of themselves.

“So which two do you think are going to pair up and jam their tongues down each other’s throats first?” Karkat questions. He hasn’t taken off his shirt yet and is probably baking in his dark colors, which serves to make him even more irritable than usual.

“Vris and Ter,” you say. “Definitely. They have so much fuckin sexual tension it’s unbelievable.” Thinking about what you said too late, your eyes flit to Kanaya. Hopefully she doesn’t mind you saying anything like that about her ex—when you know she’s still sore about it,  _god_  you’re an asshole. You’re about to make it better by saying, Or _Vris and Tav_ , but no, that also involves the wench, so you just shut up and send her an apologetic look.

She doesn’t seem to notice. You can’t see where she’s looking because of her sunglasses but if you had to guess, she’s fallen asleep sitting up.

“Yeah, I can agree with that,” Kar says. “They really need to stop drinking before they cross the line over the far side of tipsy to completely shitfaced.”

You prop your chin up in your hand, eyes wandering to the ocean, where Fef is relaxing in she shallows as Nep dives at schools of minnows. Knowing that his, ‘They need to stop,’ actually means, ‘ _I_  need to stop them,’ you say, “Go, I know you’ll take any chance to play mother hen.”

His lip curls at that but he gets up and heads over there anyway. It’s not long before he starts screaming, taking every bottle of scotch in his arms as he tries to bring it back up to the house. If he’s not careful, Vris is going to put her foot up his ass.

Covertly, you shift your gaze to Kanaya. You still can’t tell whether she’s actually  _here_ , so you raise your hand to snap your fingers in front of her face. However, she catches it before you have the opportunity and puts it back on the towel. This works to turn the silence awkward—at least, on your side of things—and you clear your throat to try and break it. “So,” you mumble. It sounds pathetic, so you amp your voice up to say, “I accidentally sold my soul to Polyvore.”

 _Wow, smooth one, Ampora._  You visibly wince.

“That’s what happens when you don’t read the terms and conditions.” Her voice is the same, elegant with a slightly musical quality that you’d almost pin down as regal. She turns her head completely towards you, removing her sunglasses and looking at the trenches you’ve dug into the sand with your heels. You notice that she has a tiny diamond stud in her nose that wasn’t there before, and she’s wearing eyeliner even though it’s just probably going to get messed up in the water.

“No, like… I just spent a lot of time on there because I was fucking bored.”

Her expression doesn’t really change, but you can still see a small spark of humor in her gaze. “I understood, Eridan.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling like an idiot. You wrap your arms around your knees. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she assures you, beginning to trace patterns in the sand with her finger.

Before you can sink into the ground and disappear, Karkat plops back down in between the two of you, grouchily crossing his arms over his chest. His expression is the exact reason why you got him a grumpy cat shirt for his birthday last year. Speaking of shirts, you say, “Kar, you really need to take off that sweater.”

His scowl deepens. “How about  _no_.”

You look down at yourself, making a sweeping gesture with your hands from neck to torso. “Look, I took my shirt off, and you know how particular I am with being covered. You’re at the fucking beach, and you’re going to take off your sweltering sweater or I swear to fucking god I’ll rip it off.”

“Are you propositioning me?” he questions mockingly. “Come on dude, we’ve been over this— _HEY_!”

You grab one side, Kanaya gets the other, and you both manage to get the sweater over his head. The entire thing is soaked with sweat; within a couple of seconds, it’s coated in sand. “ _Fuck_  you guys!” Kar wails, crossing his arms over his chest and pitching forward into the sand.

As if her Karkat-took-off-his-clothes senses are tingling, Terezi appears right in front of him. “It’s time for you to go swimming!” she cackles.

“No way, go suck Vriska’s dick or something,” Karkat barks once he rolls over onto his back.

“You have two options,” she states pleasantly, acting like she didn’t hear him. “Either you’ll get you plush rump off the ground and walk down to the ocean like a man, or I’ll drag you to the water and the shells will cut up your back. Your choice.”

Karkat grumbles expletives to himself as he heaves himself up and walks down to the water with Terezi. It’s not long before she makes a grab for his ass, and he scampers sideways with a yelp. That gesture sits strangely in your stomach.

“So did they get together while I was gone?” you inquire to Kan.

“Not that I know of,” she responds, “though they’ve gotten even closer and I believe it’s only a matter or time.” As she speaks, everyone but Sollux, Aradia, and Tavros start heading down to the water to join the other four. “Shall we go?”

With a dejected sigh, you heave yourself up, leaving your glasses folded neatly on the towel. “Yeah, I guess  _someone_  needs to keep an eye on them because half of them are fucking smashed and _should not be going into the ocean, you idiotic peons_.” You emphasize the last part in hopes they’ll hear you, but apparently they don’t give a fuck.

You and Kanaya trail down to the tide line after them, silently judging. Dropping your voice so only she’ll hear you but still speaking loud enough that your words aren’t eaten by the wind, you say, “Best swimsuit?”

“Oh, you mean besides mine?” she drawls, running a hand absentmindedly over the fabric. She’s got a bikini top, mostly black but with green tendrils weaving together to make an interesting design, while her bottoms are all jade, with a translucent red skirt blowing around her legs, the angle of the hem running from mid thigh to a couple of inches under her knee.

“Yes,” you say. Sure, you’re biased towards Fef as to who  _looks_  the fittest, but the best-dressed category will always go to Kanaya (when it’s not you, though you’ve come to accept that you’ll never win any swimsuit competitions with her around). Anyway, it’s not common for Kanaya to take credit for looking fantastic, so you’ll give it to her.

“Hmm,” she ponders, eyes narrowing as she takes everyone in. “I think I’d have to say…” she trails off uncertainly, scanning the crowd. “You.”

“What?” Blinking hard, you rephrase, “I mean, yeah, of course.”

The corner of Kanaya’s mouth tugs up. “You managed to match your clothes. I’m proud.”

Sputtering, you claim, “Every outfit of mine matches! Anyway, it’s only swim trunks; you can’t fuck that up.”

She cringes minutely. “Tell that to Gamzee.”

…You see her point. At least Terezi has some sort of excuse for not matching all the time; Gamzee does not. “Did he try to wear sunscreen as face paint again?”

“Indeed he did.”

You shudder.

Low tide has left pools of water near the ocean’s edge, and Nep is still splashing around trying to get fish. She’s dug herself a hole where her quarries are being kept, and it’s teeming with life. Fef is laid out in a tidal pool that her friend isn’t disturbing, eyes closed and posture relaxed. She sits up when the main group starts walking by, stretching with her arms as if reaching to grab clouds out of the sky, and you head over to her. “Have a nice nap?” you ask as you sit down next to her.

“Mhmm,” she almost purrs. “I was going to call you over when I woke up. Let’s go out far, where the waves aren’t breaking.”

“Okay.” You shift over so you’re in front of her, and she curls her arms around your neck. Situating her legs on either side of your waist, you hook your arms under them and stand up. Piggybacking her has gotten much easier over the years, and you walk down to the waves effortlessly.

The surf isn’t large today, with only two and three footers. You bash into waves with your hip as you wade into the water, and by the time you’re far enough out there have been three splash fights, one near drowning, and two instances where someone confused the ocean with tequila and tried to drink it (both were Gamzee). When the water reaches your shoulders, you spin on your heel and fall backwards, bringing both you and Fef underwater. She shoves your face down and you jab her in the sides, and she’s laughing when you come up for air.

She entertains herself by swimming back and forth for a while, and you just float on your back and stare at the sky. There are dark clouds in the distance that look immensely threatening, but if you know anything about Florida it’s that they’re probably just going to dump cool rain on you for a few minutes before absconding.

Fef gets tired or bored or both, so she heads back over to you, resting her hand on your shoulder instead of continually pumping her arms. You go from your back to upright, though you don’t stand up straight. “It’s wonderful to be in the ocean again,” she sighs.

“Did you go at all when I was..?”

“A couple of times,” Fef answers, knowing where the question was going, “but only with Meenah and once with Nepeta and Terezi, but I really didn’t go in the water like this.” She replaces her hand with her cheek and opts to link arms with you instead. “It’s so nice.”

“We’ll come again,” you promise. “Soon.”

About twenty feet away, everyone else is congregating, and Karkat shoots a look to the two of you that says,  _Get the fuck over here_. You do so, joining the circle as everyone sticks up ten fingers and the first bits of rain begin to fall. Sighing, you do the join in; it weird not to see a while bunch of rings on your bony digits, but you didn’t want to risk any of them getting washed away.

“I’ll start!” Terezi exclaims. “Never have I ever…”

Ten minutes later, Nepeta barely pulls a victory as the storm comes to a head. Kanaya and Equius were the runners up, but sexual things put out the former and the latter fell during the awkward topic of masturbation. Even Nep can’t quite look him in the eye after that one.

Gamzee leaves because he wants to sneak some more scotch, but it’s about time for something Fef has been looking forward to. “Ready to defend our title?” she asks as other two person teams begin to form for chicken fights.

“You know I am,” you reply, smirking.

There’s some awkwardness, because Karkat is willing to split with Terezi to go with Kanaya, but Vriska is adamant about teaming with the willowy girl. Maybe the alcohol has made her forget their messy break up, but Kanaya eventually concedes to it, leaving Terezi to dunk Kar’s head under so she can climb up on his shoulders. Nep and Eq watch the proceedings with their game faces on, Nep already perching atop of her best friend.

As Vriska tries to gracefully ascend Kanaya (and fails), you dunk, guiding Fef’s legs around your shoulders and down your chest, locking them into place with your arms. You make sure you’ve got a tight grip on her before coming back up for air, gasping quietly as Fef’s fingers brush the hair and water from your eyes. “Ready?” you ask.

“Yes!” she affirms before you charge.

You thought Karkat and Terezi would be out in ten seconds, but they manage to hold themselves together even though the rest of the bases are at least half a foot taller than Kar. They are the first team to go, but they hold on for nearly a minute, which in this clusterfuck is saying something. Kanaya and Vriska go down shortly after, the two not being a good match because where Kan wanted grace, Vris wanted ferocity. In the end, it’s just you and Fef against the superfriends, exactly like it was last year.

 _One last hurrah_ , you think as Fef and Nep go at each other. Your shoulders are beginning to tire but you think you’ll be able to hold out until the end. Twisting, you help Fef avoid a swipe only to somehow end up cracking your head into Equius’s.

You stagger back, disoriented, as you blink and try to get your footing. It seems Equius is unaffected because he easily swipes in and Nepeta comes with a kill strike. Fef loses her balance and topples off your shoulders, bringing you down with her as you try and keep her on.

“Fuck,” you curse, but since you’re underwater the only thing that comes out is a bubble. Pushing against the bottom, you surface, tossing your head back and rubbing your eyes. Fef comes up next to you, clutching your arm and panting. She giggles, letting her head fall onto your shoulder as she shouts, “Nice job, guys!”

You can detect the trace of disappointment in her voice, even if the others can’t. The trek out of the water feels like a walk of shame, even if the warmth of Fef clinging to your back like a koala makes butterflies flutter about in your stomach.

While you were gone, everyone who remained got food. They ordered pizza, causing boxes from the specialty brick oven place up the road litter the sand, and once you and Fef are situated on a towel Tavros chucks a box over to you. Half a pizza is left, complete with extra cheese and anchovies.

Later, the quietness has melted away and everyone is chattering except for you. You’re just sitting there, curled in a ball with your chin propped on your knees as you watch Fef, who’s currently over with Aradia and Sollux.  The couple has been really busy this summer, and you know Fef has really missed them, even though you have no idea what she sees in the lisping ignoramus half of the duo. Huffing, you turn away and accidentally bring yourself into a conversation with Karkat and Gamzee.

“Just when I thought he was gonna be sulking over there all by his lonesome, he turns around to conversate with us,” Gamzee observes with a lazy grin. “Glad you could join us, brother.”

“‘Conversate’ isn’t a word,” you grumble. “It’s ‘converse’ or ‘conversation’.”

Gamzee’s smile doesn’t falter. “All that motherfucking matters is that it  _flows_ , get me?”

Kar shoots you a look that says, _Fucking stoner logic._ You silently agree.

From behind him, Gam pulls out an almost empty bottle of scotch and holds it out to you. You decline the offer, shooting Karkat a look. He defends, “Well, I can deal with it as long as there’s some responsible supervision.”

You shrug, not really caring. Switching the topic to something you’ve been wondering about, you ask him, “So why haven’t you put the moves on Terezi yet?”

Karkat groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Not you too!”

“Yes, me too. She’s totally into you, and she has been since you were in fucking middle school, if your Facebook tells me anything.” You didn’t know any of these people except for Fef before you entered high school, since before then you went to a private school in Jacksonville. “But like… if you’re not into it, I can have some words with her.” You’re feeling slightly magnanimous today.

His eyes flit over to her. “She’s like that with  _everyone_. Plus I don’t even know if I like her like that! One day she infuriates me and the next I just want to kiss her fucking mouth so she shuts up and I don’t know what I want! And I don’t think she knows either. So we’re just sort of… stagnating.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you a leader or not?”

 _“Fuck yeah_  I’m a leader, but—”

“Then  _lead_. Ask her on a date, and if she does something weird like lick the leftover food off your plate or shits on your doorstep, then you know it won’t work out!”

“Oh, like it’s that easy,” he says bitterly, kicking the sand. “You know it’s not that easy, seeing as you’ve been crushing on the same girl since fucking elementary school.”

You hold up a hand. “For once, this is not about me. I will gladly make it about me in a few seconds, but right now this is about  _you_  and  _your_ inability to buck up and ask out Terezi fucking Pyrope. And I will admit,” you continue, “that I’m not in the best position to be giving life advice, but come on Kar, this is painful to watch; just  _go for it_.”

He sits up, brushing off excess sand. With a determined look on his face, he heaves himself up, takes a stumbling step, and falls right into the giant hole that Equius and Nepeta are digging.

“My apologies,” Equius says as Karkat climbs out to the sound of your guffaws and Gamzee’s weird honking, “though you knew we were here. Watch where you’re going next time.”

It visibly pains Karkat to hold back a scathing comment, but he manages to do so. “Is Karkat alright?” Nepeta asks worriedly.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Kar bites. “His dignity is just in shambles.”

“ _Dig_ nity,” you say under your breath. “Like the hole they’re digging.” Gamzee thinks it’s hilarious, but even you have to admit that was one of your weaker ones. Fef would be ashamed.

As Karkat sits back down dejectedly and in a fit of  _fuck this shit_  reaches for the bottle of scotch, Fef calls beckons you. Getting up and dusting the sand off your ass, you go over. “Bathroom,” she says into your ear once she’s clinging to your back.

Sighing, you trudge up to the house. “Why can’t girls just pee in a hole or something?” you say.

“We just can’t whip it out like you can!” Fef sighs. “That would be  _so_  much easier.”

Her wheelchair is on the patio, and you deposit her in it. She has a beach one with giant wheels, but she finds it annoying and only uses it when you aren’t there to be her human chauffer. You try to brush the sand off of yourselves so you don’t track it all over the Gam’s beach house before heading inside.

The air conditioning feels wonderful. You wait in the back sitting room as Fef does her thing, checking your new Tumblr for updates (you had to delete your old one because of reasons) while praying that Mama Makara doesn’t drop by for a surprise visit. That woman scares you more than Fef’s mother, and that’s saying something.

Surprisingly, the back door opens and everyone comes filing in, bringing with them a fuck ton of sand and a debate over what movie to watch. You join them and when Fef comes back, you head into the living room, where a war starts over the couch.

It’s huge enough that nearly everyone fits, yourself included. Gamzee, Karkat, Terezi, and Vriska end up on the floor, with Ter using Kar as a seat. You’ll probably never be able to choose a movie with this many people, but Fef just put her head on your shoulder so you’re content.

“Having fun?” she inquires quietly.

“Yeah,” you say, and you’re surprised to realize that’s the truth. It’s not  _fun_  fun, like the kind of fun it was to run around in Fef’s backyard playing cowgirls and wizards, but you can’t say that you hate being here with every ounce of your being. “It’s not bad. Seeing Kar and Kan again is nice.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her smile. “Good! Maybe you can get coffee with them sometime this week. You need to fulfill your gossip quota or you won’t be able to keep your title as the king blabbermouth.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan as she nuzzles into you. An opportunity arises and your stomach turns over because you don’t know if you should take it or just let it pass you by. She’s just your friend, she doesn’t like you like that, she’ll reject you and it’ll ruin your friendship and you don’t want that because you need her in your life—that phase freshman year is proof of that—

Oh, to hell with it. You grab her hand and she lets you, twining your fingers together and squeezing. You wonder if it’s pity or guilt or friend-love that led her to not push you away in disgust, but whatever it is you’ll take it. Some of the tension in your shoulders uncoils, and you lean back into the sofa, observing the anarchy of trying to choose something to watch on Netflix with a slight smirk. It’s far from perfect, but it’s probably as close as you’ll ever get.


	5. Polyvore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the anime-style super fun beach party episode, Eridan and Kanaya have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this will only make sense if you've read "Water Carrier". I suggest you read that first, if you haven't already.

CA: so my polyvvore account is the same as my chathandle  
GA: As Is Mine  
CA: swweet im gonna go take a look  
GA: Feel Free  
CA: …  
CA: kan  
CA: wwhat the fuck is the third one  
GA: Winter Wear  
CA: no  
CA: its an abomination  
GA: Says The Guy Who Wears Scarves In The Summer  
GA: Oh Sorry  
GA: Scarvves  
CA: you knoww wwhat kan fuck you  
CA: scarvves are wwonderful any time a year and youre just jealous that i pull em off so wwell  
GA: Oh Am I  
CA: yeah  
GA: It Seems We Will Just Have To Agree To Disagree  
GA: So Besides Being Enslaved To Polyvore What Have You Been Up To For The Past Month  
CA: oh yknow  
CA: eating shitty food  
CA: beating all my high scores on games  
CA: therapy  
CA: the usual stuff  
GA: Have You Gotten A Therapist Here Yet  
CA: nah i dont think im gonna  
CA: its just a hassle  
GA: Eridan Thats Not Good  
GA: You Need To Continue If You Want To Get Any Better  
GA: And It Would Be Different If Id Seen Improvement In You Today But You Seemed Just As Mopey As Usual  
CA: im already on meds wwhat else do you wwant from me  
CA: anyway i was only sorta off because of some shit kar said  
CA: no big deal  
GA: Oh  
GA: What Did Karkat Say  
CA: just stuff  
GA: Eridan  
CA: ugh fine  
CA: he wwas just makin me feel sorta guilty  
CA: fuck you wwas a phrase that wwas used quite a lot  
GA: You Two Seemed Fine At The Beach  
CA: wwell i guess he got ovver it quicker  
GA: What Else Did He Say  
CA: just that i wworried him an fef an you wwhen i shouldnt havve  
CA: and like some other stuff i cant exactly recall but the words certainly dont havve any positivve feelins attached i can tell you that  
GA: He Shouldnt Have Said Anything Like That To You So I Will Apologize For Him  
GA: Hes Sorry  
CA: you knoww hes not sorry and i knoww hes right  
GA: Well He Wasnt Wrong In Some Points But Overall He Shouldnt Have Said Most Of Those Things To You  
GA: I Will Be Having A Word With Him  
CA: no kan dont  
CA: its fine i know kar has his heart in the right place  
CA: he alwways does  
CA: evven if wwhat he says hurts  
GA: The Only Thing He Was Right About Is That Yes We All Were Worried But Thats Because We Love You Even If We Dont Always See Eye To Eye  
GA: He Shouldnt Have Yelled At You And It Was Very Stupid Of Him To Have Done So  
CA: kar does wwhatevver the fuck he wwants you knoww that  
CA: anywway im sorry this got all heavy wwhen i wwas just tryin to talk about polyvvore  
GA: Dont Apologize You Can Always Talk To Me If You Need To  
CA: haha yeah i knoww thanks kan  
CA: i think im gonna go to bed  
GA: Goodnight Eridan  
CA: night

\-- caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] \--


	6. The Christmas Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Eridan finds himself alone on Christmas, the Peixes family drags him into their chaotic holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who celebrate, Merry Christmas! To all those who don't, I hope you had a wonderful day and that whichever holiday you celebrate was amazing!

“Ugh, it’s so chaotic over here!” Fef rants as you take another bite of ice cream. You have your phone propped between your cheek and your shoulder as you listen to her freak out about all the relatives that’ll be at Peixes Manor within the next half hour and all of the preparation that goes with that. “I mean yeah, we hired maids and a butler or two to help out but grandma is still cooking for everyone and Meenah still hasn’t showered since she decided to jump into the pool and my mom hasn’t gotten off the phone in three hours and—”

“Fef,” you stop her, muting the audio on _Elf_ and putting the spoon in your container of Ben and Jerry’s. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“ _I’m completely calm_!” she emphasizes in the least tranquil tone you’ve ever heard. “And believe me, I _do_ want to see my family but I know Great Auntie Rhonda will try to smoke joints in the den again and Uncle Chesterton is just going to be _condescending_ the entire night and Claudia’s dog is going to pee all over the rugs—”

“As long as your Great Aunt Jane brings her famous layer cake I think you’ll be fine,” you say around a mouthful of ice cream. You go to get another bite, but your spoon just scrapes the bottom of the container. Sighing, you get up and head into the kitchen to get another one. “Save me a slice.”

“Oh fuck that, it’ll all be gone immediately after it’s put out. Just drop by for a second, I’ll give you your present, and you can take some layer cake with you! I’m sure your dad can spare you for a couple of minutes.”

“Um, about that…” you venture as you dig around in your freezer. You know you’re hiding another pint of Phish Food in there _somewhere_. “He’s kind of not here.”

She exhales sharply. “Did he burn the turkey again like he did last year? What kind of replacement is he going to get this time?”

A lump of awkward settles in your stomach, and you halt your rummaging, close the freezer door, and lean against the counter. “No, it’s not like last Christmas. They asked him to stay at the base for the night and he said he would. We’re having Christmas next week.”

There’s a moment of silence while she processes this, and then she says shortly, “You’re coming over here.”

“And have to deal with your circus of relatives?” you snort. “No fucking thank you.”

“Well you’re not spending Christmas _alone_ ,” she says. There’s a rustle and her voice is further away. “Grandma! Eridan is languishing all alone in his house because his douchebag dad said he had to work! He can come over here, right?”

“Fef, _no_ —”

“She says there’s plenty of food.” You can hear the smile in her voice. “Now it won’t just be me, John, and Jade at the kids’ table!”

“You’re sixteen and they still separate you from the adults? And what about Meenah?” you say incredulously.

You can practically hear her shrug. “I guess they don’t want us to hear all about their shady bakery dealings, and she's nineteen so this is her second year with the adults. Be here in half an hour, see you then!"

“I never said I was coming!” you yell, but she’s already hung up the phone. Against your will, the corners of your lips quirk into a smile; you won’t be spending the holiday alone after all.

You spray on a bunch of deodorant, style your hair into a work of art, and put on one of your old suits. Luckily your pants are still creased and the jacket doesn’t smell like mothballs, so it’s definitely passable for such short notice. You tie your violet bowtie, clip on matching suspenders, and go about gathering gifts. Fef’s is wrapped neatly on your bed so you put it into a bag, careful not to mess it up, before going into your father’s wine “cellar”. You can’t have basements in Florida because of the water table so it’s actually just a room near the back of the house, chilled and filled with antique bottles of the finest alcohol there is. You snag a bottle of _Le Pin Pomerol_ for Glenys and lock up the house, making sure everything is off and the security system is armed.

It’s about a five-minute walk, and you make sure to take it slow so you don’t sweat. Once you make it to the estate, you weave between sleek Aston Martins and fiery Ferraris piled into her long wraparound driveway (you’re surprised they don’t have a fucking valet) and hesitate at the door, unsure of whether or not to knock.

Someone else makes the decision for you. The door opens, and you try not to ogle Meenah in her sleek black cocktail dress that shows a _lot_ more than you’re used to seeing of her. “Fucking _hell_ , don’t just _stand_ there,” she groans before grabbing the sleeve of your jacket and dragging you inside. “You’re tense as _fuck_ , Eridan. Want me to smuggle you some champaign?”

“No, I’m good,” you protest weakly. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to—?”

“Oh shut up, it’s _fine_ ,” she interrupts. “Aranea came last year and grandma actually likes you, so I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you. Now go schmooze, you might be able to make some connections.”

“Where’s Fef?” you ask before she can leave you stranded in the hallway.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she waves a hand towards the back of the house. “In the kitchen, now go!”

You resist the urge to say something nasty and turn away, straightening your spine and putting on a nice layer of arrogance. Once you check your hair on the closest reflective surface, it’s show time.

“Merry Christmas,” you greet with a dashing smile the second you step into the kitchen, putting your bag down in the corner and removing the wine. You put it on the counter near Glenys, just out of her way. “For you.” In return, you get a chirpy hello from John, an _oh God why_ from Jade, a _thank you Eridan_ , _you look so handsome!_ from Glenys, and Fef yanks you down for a hug. You kiss her cheek and step back, taking a deep breath. “I feel like I need to go throw up because I spent too much time gorging on ice cream before I got here and it all smells _so good_.”

“Speaking of that…” Fef’s grandmother whirls around, pointing a wooden spoon at your chest. “Eridan Ampora, why didn’t you tell me you were going to be alone for Christmas?”

“It… really didn’t seem important,” you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “We’re gonna have the big dinner and exchange gifts next week instead, so it’s like the holiday got bumped.”

“But it’s not the same!” she wails, going back to stirring.

“Sorry,” you say awkwardly.

“I’ll only forgive you if you help me carry plates to the table,” Glenys says. “There’s so much to get out, and I’m pretty much done with everything. Start with those mashed potatoes.” She gestures with a perfectly manicured, blood red fingernail. “John and Jade, you help him. Grab the asparagus and smoked salmon.”

Jade must’ve told John about you hitting on her that one time (or maybe it was more than once, you can’t quite remember) because they stick close to each other as you bring dishes to the table. Fef goes around to everyone to tell them dinner’s about to be ready so a crowd begins to trickle into the colossal dining room. By the time you’re done, the table is covered in food, and when John and Jade come in with the last of the lobster tails you claim a seat and sink into it.

The kids’ table is in the corner of the grandiose room. Luckily, it doesn’t have the bright colors and plastic doll house chairs you were expecting: it’s like the ostentatious dining table that takes up the rest of the room, except it’s only about four feet across and it lacks the edible art that adorns the main table. As people sit, John and Jade join you, the former to your left and the latter directly across from you, and soon Fef wheels up and locks in place to your right.

Fef’s mother leads the grace, and it’s the first time you’ve seen the woman in years. She still has an immortal quality to her—she looks like she’s thirty with no children, and you keep meaning to ask for her secret—and speaks with a smooth velvety tone that screams _politician_ , spouting a bunch of bullshit about the importance of family and fraternity that you _know_ she doesn’t believe, seeing as she’s in DC ten months out of twelve. Finally, after that lengthy, painful speech, you can eat.

You try to taste everything, but the ice cream sitting in your stomach protests all the while. You’re sure to eat some lobster and prime rib before your digestive system shuts down for the night, and you resist the urge to undo your belt and let your gullet stick out for all to see.

It’s a miracle that the conversation at your table stays civil, because you know Jade disagrees with you about everything from gun cleaning techniques to astrophysical theories, and you keep a watchful eye on John to make sure he doesn’t pull some sort of prank on you. There’s little chance of the latter this year, you think, because last time you saw him he dumped a bucket full of Gushers onto you— _ruining_ your favorite shirt—so you punched him in the face. You bet the little bitch isn’t over it.

Glenys, it seems, just wanted to make the delivery of the food look homely and doesn’t give a shit about its removal, because butlers come in to take away empty plates and refill glasses. Dessert comes out and you snag a piece of layer cake but you’re so _stuffed_ that you have to surround it in cling wrap and hide it in the back of the refrigerator to take home later. If someone finds it and consumes it you’ll have to commit genocide.

After dinner, you and Fef sneak away and go upstairs. You make sure to grab her present from the kitchen before heading to the elevator. “I need to talk to everyone still, but let’s just get this out of the way,” she says. You end up in her room sitting on her bed, your respective presents in front of you. You’re quite nervous about giving her yours, because what can you give a girl that can buy anything she wants?

“I know most of your fish got wiped out when you went on vacation over Thanksgiving,” you ramble, fingers drumming on your leg as she unwraps the box, “so I thought hey, why not give these a try? I know they’re kinda hard to keep but you took such good care of your old fish and reef and you like them so—”

“Eridan,” she breathes, removing the tiny tank with a cluster of cuttlefish eggs from the box and holding it up to her face so she can get a better look, “this is perfect! Thank you thank you THANK you!”

Your stomach flutters with butterflies and you give her a small smile, relief settling in. “I’m glad you like them. The cluster has eight eggs, and I included some instructions and all of the equipment you should need, so hopefully they won’t be too much trouble.”

Fef grins and clutches the little transport tank to her chest. “You open yours now! I’ll go ahead and warn you that mine isn’t as good.”

There’s a lot of stuff in the bag, all wrapped individually. She indulged in your secret Harry Potter obsession and got you a Slytherin scarf, some chocolate frogs, and a wand for your birth month, plus there are some colorful hemp bracelets (probably because she thought the ones you usually wear are too dull), some fuzzy, aloe infused purple socks, and a high-powered Super Soaker pistol. “It’s mostly little trinkets, I know,” she says, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“No, Fef, you always know what I’ll like. Thank you,” you say. She leans over and you meet her halfway, hugging her and taking in everything: her beachy smell, the silk of her dress, the softness of her hair, her glorious curves. Too soon she’s releasing you, and you know you’ll have to go downstairs and talk to her relatives and sulk in the corner for a little while, but at least you’re not alone.


	7. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GA: Is There A Particular Reason I Came Home To Find Eridan Face Down On My Bed Listening To The Sound Of Silence On Repeat
> 
> GA: Or Are You Just As In The Dark As I Am
> 
> GA: Feferi Please Answer There Are Only So Many Times I Can Listen To The Lyrics Hello Darkness My Old Friend Before I Have To Put My Foot Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this happened somehow. Two hours ago, I had no idea this would be written, and look what happened. I blame the anticipation of the college decision waiting period, though I didn't apply to any of the schools these overachievers did. This ficlet is just something short that I wanted to get out of my head; I think it's the shortest one so far.
> 
> Also, if you ever spot a typo or a blatant mistake, please don't hesitate to bring it to my attention. I'd rather get a scathing comment about my ineptitude than have it solidified in the work forever.

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering cuttlefishCuller [CC] \--

 

GA: Is There A Particular Reason I Came Home To Find Eridan Face Down On My Bed Listening To The Sound Of Silence On Repeat

GA: Or Are You Just As In The Dark As I Am

GA: Feferi Please Answer There Are Only So Many Times I Can Listen To The Lyrics Hello Darkness My Old Friend Before I Have To Put My Foot Down

CC: SORRY Kanaya, I was looking at something in another window! I didn’t know )(e was upset! 380 He seemed fine in t)(e car earlier!

CC: Do you know )(ow long )(e’s been t)(ere? )(e only dropped me off )(alf an )(our ago.

GA: Porrim Said She Let Him In At Around Three Thirty

CC: )(MM. Well did you try asking )(im w)(at was wrong?

GA: Oh Shit The Thought Hadnt Even Entered My Mind

GA: Thank You For The Sagacious Advice

CC: )(a)(a sorry I just )(ad to ask!

CC: Do you want to get rid of )(im or?

GA: Well I Figured Id Hear Him Out But He Wont Say A Word To Me

CC: If )(e decides to SP-EAK UP sometime wit)(in the next century, tell )(im to give me a call!

CC: I need to talk to )(im about the alterations to our trip next mont)( and )(e kept c)(anging the subject w)(en I broug)(t it up earlier.

GA: I Wasnt Aware That The Two Of You Were Going Anywhere

CC: Yea)( we were going to tour Yale but O)( KANAYA DID I TELL YOU?

GA: If I Had To Guess Id Have To Say No You Have Not Told Me

CC: I GOT INTO COLUMBIA!

CC: I WASN’T SUR-E T)(AT I WOULD I WAS SO GLUBBING N---ERVOUS BUT I GOT THE N-EWS LAST NIGHT!!!!!!!!

GA: You Better Watch Those Exclamation Points Youre Starting To Type Like A Certain Serket

CC: )(e)(e, sorry!

GA: But Anyway Congratulations On Getting Into Your Top Choice

GA: Im Sure You Will Be Incredibly Successful In Whatever You Decide To Do

CC: Thank you!

GA: Now If You Will Excuse Me I Have To Go Deal With The Boy Shaped Lump On My Bed

CC: Don’t pus)( TOO )(ard, I want )(im back later! We’re going to C--EL----EBRAT-E!

CC: BY---------E!

 

\-- cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] \--

 

You think you know why he’s upset now.

“Are you done breathing through my sheets yet?” you inquire, swiveling around in your chair and closing your laptop. The YouTube link that was in the middle Simon and Garfunkel’s top hit (that people only seem to know the first line of) cuts off abruptly during an instrumental interlude. When Eridan still doesn’t respond, you sigh loudly to let him know how melodramatic you think he’s being and get up, going to sit on the edge of your bed near his feet. “Is it because it is certain that Feferi will be going to a different school than you?” 

He lets out a strange whale noise that is muffled by the pillow pressed into his face as he clutches his arms tighter around the object. _And there we have it_. “Eridan, you knew she wanted to go to Columbia.” 

The mature young man mutters something unintelligible into your pillow, and you nudge his thigh with your finger. “I cannot respond to you without first knowing what you said.” He remains still, so you gather some of the patience you’ve reserved especially for him and his heap of issues and say, “Eridan Ampora, you will hold a civilized conversation or you will end up on the floor. I will remind you that it is hardwood.”

Finally, he rolls over, still holding onto the pillow. He wiggles around like a fish out of water to get comfortable, stuffing the pillow under his chin and fixing a pout on his face that makes his lower lip look swollen. “I said that she sounded excited about going to Yale with me,” he says, and you wonder where the hell he put his glasses, because they’re not on his face.

“This is Feferi we’re talking about,” you remind him. “She would be excited if she were accepted to a community college.” When he doesn’t respond to that, you question, “Are you not happy for her?” His attitude is beginning (or continuing, you guess) to irk you.

“I am,” he assures you, “but I… I wanted her to go to Yale with me.”

You wonder how someone so dumb managed to get into one of the best universities in the country. There is a lot to be said about the differences between book smarts and common sense. “Did you apply to Columbia?”

He blinks owlishly at you, eyes still large even without his glasses. “No. Why would I do that?”

There is a lamp on your nightstand and you so badly want to hit him over the head with it, but he would not take kindly to that and you like to think that you’re above resorting to such violence when you are merely discussing _college_. “Well, Feferi applied to Yale because _you_ wanted her to. Didn’t you think of returning the courtesy?”

Snorting, he says, “She applied to Yale because _she_ wanted to, not because of anything I said. It’s an amazing school, and I don’t see why she has to go all the way to New York when she already—”

“Eridan,” you snap, and you force yourself to take a deep breath through your nose to keep yourself from getting too sharp with him. “Stop being selfish and only thinking about yourself for thirty seconds. Just give me that. Please.”

“I don’t know what you mean—”

He notices the look you’re giving him, and his mouth snaps shut. “Thank you. Now, what college has been her first choice since day one?”

“Columbia,” he mumbles.

“Which decision has she been eagerly awaiting since the day she submitted her application?”

“Columbia’s.”

“What school has all of the programs and internship opportunities she’s been interested in, and the location she adores, and the—”

“Okay, Kan, I get it,” he bites, and you can see his eyes are starting to get watery. Great. “That’s where she wants to go, _fine_. She can go; I’m not trying to stop her. I’m happy for her, I really am.” His speech is beginning to pick up speed, and you know when he does that he’s on the verge of bursting with something like rage or grief, so you get ready for the show. “She can go to Columbia and fall in love with the campus and the city and ace all her classes and make all new friends and get a new boyfriend that’s not fucked up in all these irreparable ways and get a new life and be happier than she ever was with me and—” He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath and pinching the bridge of his nose as he looks up at the ceiling. There are still glow-in-the-dark stars taped onto it from when you were a child.

He seems to have rambled enough for now, so you pat his knee. It’s been stressful for you, dealing with his antics within the past year, since you always feel like you’re walking on glass with him. You don’t know what will trigger him into doing something dumb, and you don’t want to be responsible for anything destructive he ends up doing because even if he can be incredibly annoying and blind, he’s your friend, and his attitude isn’t entirely his fault. Biting your lip as you think, you finally come up with, “You don’t need to worry about her finding someone else. She loves you.” Eridan gives a little shrug at that, looking hopeless. “Have you talked to her about this at all?”

“I feel like I talk to her _too_ much sometimes,” he replies, voice slightly more controlled. “So no, I haven’t added this to the pile.”

Your heart goes out to Feferi. She must be a saint if she deals with his emotional theatrics more than you do. “You need to talk about what’s going to happen now that you know you’ll be two hours away from each other. Do _not_ ,” you emphasize, eyebrows drawing together sharply, “try to talk her into going to Yale. You are going there, she is going somewhere else. Accept it.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he sits up, pulling his glasses out of his pocket ( _aha_ ) and shoving them on his face with very little grace. “I’ll call her, see if I can go over there.”

“Do that,” you say.

“Thanks, Kan.” He gets up, arching his back and stretching. He still seems melancholy, but hopefully he’ll get his shit together before arriving at Peixes Manor. “For, y’know. Putting up with me.”

At least you’re _somewhat_ appreciated. “I’d like a warning next time. I’m not used to coming home to find strange men on my bed.”

He opens his mouth to say something you’re sure you’ll smack him for, and he seems to realize that at the last second and think better of it. “See you later, then.”

“Goodbye.”

You hear Porrim call out to him from the kitchen as he walks by it and he responds, but you don’t know what he says; the closed door prevents your eavesdropping. When you hear the front door close, you get up from your bed and open your laptop. The YouTube page he had open greets you, and you see that he set up a playlist on your account so it’d continuously loop the song you walked in on and another unnamed one that you’re fairly certain contains the lyrics, _“How could this happen to me? I made my mistakes…”_

As you delete the playlist, you scratch out your earlier thought. Feferi is not a saint. She is a god.


	8. Tipping Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After over half a year of not speaking to each other, an opportunity for Eridan and Feferi to reconcile occurs.
> 
>  
> 
> _Date: April of their freshman year of high school_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally polished up the Feferi POV ficlet, even though I've been feeling sort of discouraged lately. Negative shit piles up, you know? Bluh whatever, at least it looks like my friends and I might go laser tagging before prom. That's something to look forward to.
> 
> I don't think I say often enough that I appreciate everyone who reads, leaves kudos, and comments! Thank you for your support! If you want more ficlets like the ones in this collection, head over to sonicsymphony.tumblr.com and make a request!
> 
> In the interregnum between this ficlet and the one before it, I posted the an actual oneshot of Aquariustuck, called _Someone Watching From The Shadows_. The low kudos count makes me think a lot of you haven't seen it (or that the quality of my writing has deteriorated; if this is that case, please tell me what I can do to make it better!), so I figured I'd say something about it here.

When you tip over, it’s for a stupid reason. You’ve fallen out of your wheelchair before—it’s your version of tripping, how could you _not_ every once in a while?—though you haven’t done it in a while since you’ve gotten pretty awesome at maneuvering. This time _something_ went wrong while you were trying to hop down a curb and now here you are, splayed out all over the pavement. 

A brief giggle spurts out of you. Falling over when you’re by yourself isn’t _nearly_ as embarrassing as it is when there are actually people around to see it happen. Normally, you wouldn’t give a crap either way, but ever since you had to start using a wheelchair to get around, people have looked at you differently. If others had seen you, instead of them saying, “Did you see Feferi faceplant onto the asphalt the other day? Hahaha, good times,” it would be, “Did you see that poor girl in a wheelchair fall? Oh no!” You love being reduced to a label, really. It’s SO great!

…But you know that mentality was present within you before you had the accident, and then suddenly you were in the position of someone you’d wished to coddle. Alas, you can understand where the thought process comes from, but it just gets so _annoying_.

As you flip yourself from your stomach to your butt, you hear rapid footsteps approach, and you duck your head so whoever it is doesn’t see you mouth _fuck!_ They stop five or ten feet from you, and when you look up shyly you expect to see a teacher that’s just leaving school or a custodian, but your mouth dries up when you see it’s _Eridan_.

It makes you kind of ashamed that it hurts to look at him. You haven’t spoken to him in over seven months now, because the last time you did there was so much screaming and you said horrible, cutting things to each other, the last of which was you telling him to leave you alone and get the fuck out of your life, to never come back, and if he tried to talk to you again…

You’d left that part kind of open-ended, but he got the message. He’d left your house crying, and you’d sat on your bed for the next three hours doing the exact same thing, getting mascara stains all over your pillowcases. Despite how _free_ you’d suddenly felt you were hurt and angry and lonely. Those were appropriate things to feel, you think; he was your best friend.

That “ _was_ ” is strained between you now. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, chest heaving a bit because you figure he ran over here from wherever he had been when he saw you fall. “Are,” he starts before clearing his throat and reaching up to rub the back of his neck. You know from years of being his friend that it’s a nervous habit. “You’re bleeding,” he blurts out. “Just thought you should know-w.”

It’s said with such awkwardness that you start to feel a bit self-conscious too, but it’s so _characteristic_ of him that a sort of warmth appears in the pit of your stomach. You already know how much you miss him—you miss your movie nights and stargazing trips and God, you even have pictures of him up on your bulletin board of friends even if you severed everything else related to him—but talking to him is just making it worse. His words register, and you try to figure out where you’re bleeding; the only part of you that even stings is your hands, and when you look at them they’re a bit skinned up and have some gravel imbedded in your palms. You brush it away, and what’s left are only minor abrasions.

“Where..?” you question, trailing off before remembering to look down. Your knees are all scratched up, one much more so than the other. (Your left only took a minor scrape that broke the skin in rows but isn’t really bleeding, while the other is a bit deeper, with blood trailing down the side of your knee and down onto the pavement. Welp.)

“Do you want me to help?” he asks tentatively, like you’re going to rip his head off if he makes one wrong comment. You’re sort of glad that he’s trying to respect you, and while you could get back into the chair on your own, it’ll be easier with his help. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the past few years, is that it’s stupid to turn down any assistance for the sake of pride.

“Yeah, thanks,” you say, and even before you’re done with the first word he’s overturning your wheelchair and bringing it closer to where you landed, then setting the brake so it won’t roll. He extends his hands—still full of clunky, silver rings, and you’re happy he hasn’t seemed to change all that much in these months—and you take them, letting him pull you up and into the chair. He releases you immediately, like your palms are burning stovetops, and starts rummaging around in the front pocket of his messenger bag. After knocking a couple of pencils to the ground in his haste, he retracts his hand with a pocket-sized packet of Kleenex enclosed in his fist. He looks like he’s about to bend down in front of you and start blotting up the blood himself (which he’d done on numerous occasions when you two were still on good terms), but then decides to just hand you a few tissues.

You wipe the trails of blood surrounding your knee, and then apply pressure to the scrape itself. It doesn’t look _too_ bad, so hopefully it’ll stop bleeding soon. For a second you wish you could feel it to know for sure there isn’t any other less prevalent damage, but then you remember that scrapes sting like _hell_ and think better of it.

Eridan is still standing in front of you, and you’re _really_ starting to feel the awkwardness now. You shouldn’t feel obligated to start a conversation with him, but after contemplating it for a second you realize that you actually _do_ want to talk to him. It’s been too long. “So why are you here so late after school got out?” you question.

You almost expect him to bristle and snap that it’s none of your fucking business, perhaps with a sarcastic _your majesty_ taped to the end, but he just shrugs slightly and says, “I was making up a test I missed in algebra. What about you?”

“Young Democrats meeting,” you say, and he makes a face but doesn’t start attacking you for your political standpoint like he would’ve if you were actually on decent terms. It was an exciting meeting today—your group debated the Republican Club about abortion and _won_! “You’ve been missing a lot of school lately. Have you been getting sick?”

“Sometimes,” he responds, and doesn’t elaborate. When you look up to give him a questioning glance, he’s fiddling with the zipper of his bag. Looking at his wrists, you notice he’s started wearing bracelets, though not gaudy bangles like you sport; just simple hemp cuffs. They’re not really his style, but hey, maybe he’s changed more than you initially thought.

Silence descends upon you again. Frowning a bit, you add a tissue to the one already pressing into your knee. You managed to gouge yourself pretty good. “So I heard you and Gran had tea over spring break,” you say, trying to keep the discomfort at bay. “She was happy to see you.”

Eridan goes rigid, clutching his bag like it’s a life preserver, and you raise your eyebrows in surprised bemusement, but he’s looking at the ground, not you. “What’d she tell you?” he snaps, before clenching his teeth and exhaling sharply through his nose. “Sorry, that was rude. What I meant to say was, did she tell you anything about what happened?”

Giving him an appraising look, you question, “Was she not supposed to? She didn’t say anything besides that you were at the house.” You reassure him, curiosity still piqued.

“We just…” he pulls at his cuffs, and your mind tells you that the habit should be out of nervousness as well, but you know he never had any predilection towards that in the past. “It’s nothing.” As if venturing onto an undeveloped continent, he murmurs, “I’ve missed her.”

Instantly, you start to feel guilty. You’ve been so wrapped up in your emotions about this whole split that you never considered that there were other people involved—your grandmother was a nice sized chunk of Eridan’s support system, especially after his mother died, and when you cut ties from him you’d taken that away. “You can come see her,” you tell him. “Anytime.”

“I’ve been trying to respect your wishes,” he says bitterly, glowering at the ground and hunching into himself.

There’s something… _different_ about him, and you can’t quite put your finger on what it is. The arrogance is still plastered onto him, but there’s defensiveness about it now, and you’re not sure if the nervousness that clings to him like a cape is just from seeing you or from other factors. You know from seeing him in the halls and a couple of your classes that he’s been jumpier lately, like he’s waiting for someone to come and reprimand him for something, and he falls asleep during notes and cuts class more often than not. That doesn’t seem like him at all, as throughout life before your big fight, he loved learning more than anything and _he_ used to chastise _you_ for doodling in the margins of your papers and not paying enough attention.

“Eridan,” you say earnestly, trying to cut down the layer of bullshit that’s partitioning you, “are you okay?”

His eyes widen, but he tries to cover it up with indifference. “Why would you care about the answer?”

Sighing heavily, you look down at your lap. You carefully remove the Kleenex from your knee to find that most of the bleeding has stopped, but you’re still getting a fresh tissue dropped into your hands before you have to ask. Smiling grimly, you lick the tissue to wet it and wipe at the dried blood around the abrasion. When you think about answering, you don’t know what to say, because _“I still love you, stupid_ ,” doesn’t seem to be an appropriate answer.

 _“He’s been going through a hard time,”_ you remember your grandma saying when you tried to get her to tell you why he randomly showed up when you weren’t even there. “ _He needs friends, and I don’t think he has very many. He’s lonely, Feffy.”_

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you look up at him. “I’ve known you since we were six. Did you really expect me to stop caring about you just because we got into a fight?”

With a bitter huff, he says, “W-well, it was a rather big blowout.” He purses his lips and looks off to the side, pausing before he quietly replies, “I really wasn’t surprised that you got sick of me, really. I always sort of figured that I loved you more than you loved me.”

You kind of want to snap at him for being so self-pitying and saying things that aren’t true, but you figure that would be counterproductive. “I don’t understand how you came to that conclusion,” you say patiently, “as I always felt that I put more effort into our friendship than you did. Maybe if we both stopped assuming things,” you venture, “we could be friends again.”

His eyes rise to meet yours, startled. Swallowing, he asks, “Do you really mean that?”

Sighing, you shrug your shoulders slightly. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“Then yeah,” he says, running a thumb over the inside of his opposite wrist under one of his bracelets as his gaze moves back to the pavement under his feet. “I’d like that.”

You don’t know how to go from there, so you just smile and say, “Great!” You don’t want to rush back into things too fast because you know what both of you are capable of, and you can feel in the air between you that neither of you have apologized for what happened. “I’ll see you later then."

Stuffing the bloody tissues into your bag, you wheel away and almost make it to the parking lot before he calls out, “Fef?”

“Yes?” you respond.

You see a struggle unfold on his face, but then he closes up, tucking his messenger bag closer and looking down. “Nothing.”

Oh no, he’s already playing _this_ game again. However, a lot of the stress this induced last time came from your inability to resist cooperating, so you just shrug and turn away. It’ll be nice to have him back, of course—you’ve missed him fiercely, to the point where you thought you’d always have a little Eridan Ampora-shaped hole in your heart—but this time, _you_ need to have equal control. You have no time for his mind games.


	9. Strep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the mood for sickfic, so I wrote some goddamn sickfic. Also, you get to meet Eridan's roommate.
> 
> Date: the October of Eridan and Feferi's first year of college

“He won’t get out of bed,” is the first thing out of Darius’ mouth when you answer the phone, and your good mood dials down. Exhaling quietly through your nose, you lace your fingers in your hair and get ready for some drama.

Eridan’s roommate is a nice kid. They were a perfect match—they found each other on one of those roommate dating websites, had a longwinded conversation about _Ancient Aliens_ , and the relationship was sealed. You were happy that he’d gotten to know Darius reasonably well before moving up to New Haven, because God knows you were worried about him being on his own. The thing you like the most about Darius is how physically affectionate he is, since you’re not there to hug away Eridan’s hurts like you used to be. Growing up with two brothers and four sisters has made him just as likely to put Eridan in a headlock to steal a bite of his food as he is to put an arm around his shoulder and let your boyfriend lean on him. You’re thankful for Darius every day.

But he’s never been good at this sort of thing: dealing with Eridan when he’s at his worst. For this, you’ve been his reference book, and you’ve been willing to answer his questions when he first saw the scars and witnessed firsthand the horrible moods your boyfriend tended to fall into sometimes. Instead of running away like a lot of people would’ve, he’s become an integral part of Eridan’s support system.

“Did you see him take his meds?” you ask, running through the mental checklist you have ingrained in your mind.

“He hasn’t moved all morning, he already missed his first class,” Darius tells you. “So no, I don’t think he has, but I think I know what the problem is.”

You wait a moment for him to elaborate, but one thing about Darius is he can be entirely oblivious in certain situations. “Go on,” you urge once the silence stretches too long.

“He said he was feeling off yesterday, and I think he went down to an urgent care place down the road,” Darius explains. “I found the receipt. I don’t think he has a cold though, because he hasn’t been coughing or sneezing or anything, so I don’t know what’s wrong. He’s just been hiding under the covers and refusing to say anything to me.”

Selfishly, a little pang of disappointment resounds in your chest. “I take it he won’t be driving down to visit me, then?”

“I guess so,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, Fef, I know he was really looking forward to seeing you.”

Even though you may have to pull a few strings, you make the decision with ease. “If it’s alright with you, I’ll come up to crash there for the weekend. Do you know where Union Station is?”

“You already researched it, good,” he states, and you can hear him smiling. “Yeah I can get you, but I’ll warn you, public transportation sucks.”

It’ll probably be even worse in a wheelchair, joy. “I’ll do it for Eridan,” you tell him, taking your iPad and pulling up the bus services website you found when you enrolled at Columbia. “When I know what time I’m getting in I’ll text you, okay? In the meantime, try to get him some Advil or something, and he likes macaroni and cheese when he’s sick, if you can coax him out from under the covers. Velveeta, not the regular stuff.”

“I…” he says tentatively. “I have class in half an hour, but—”

You already know how the rest of the sentence is going to go, so you stop him. “Then go, I’m sure he’ll be okay on his own for a while.”

“He’ll get lonely,” Darius says, sounding sad. “He’s probably lonely already, and I’ve only been out of the room since I got on the phone with you. Yeah, I know he won’t even acknowledge me at the moment, but he knows I’m _there_.”

“He’ll be okay for an hour and a half,” you comfort. “Tell me if he starts lamenting about his impending death, okay?”

“But Fef,” he whispers, as if he’s about to admit sacrilege, “I have chemistry. I _hate_ chemistry. I was just trying to find an excuse not to go.”

“Darius,” you respond in the same tone, voice low, “if you hate it so much, why are you a chemical engineering major?”

“Because I’m a masochist,” he wines.

“Go to class, and make sure Eridan doesn’t suffocate,” you request. “See you later.”

The only response you get is a downtrodden keening noise before you end the call. Darius is good for Eridan, you know, but he can be… quite the character.

As the day goes on, all you get from Eridan is an: i cant come visit, somethin came up, i love you. He must be feeling awful if he dropped his vv’s. You send him back an Okay! because you want to surprise him.

Nine hours later, it’s dark and you’re waiting by the bus terminal in New Haven when a whistle from your left grabs your attention. Squinting, you see a scrappy Asian kid with straight, chin length hair and black leather pants waving his arms above his head frantically from across the street. Rolling your eyes, you head towards him.

“How was the bus ride down?” he asks, grasping the handles of your chair so he can guide the pair of you to the nearest regular bus stop. There’s a difference between the ones that run between cities and those that serve the college campus.

You’re so tired that you don’t try to protest his pushing, and you lean back, moving some of the curls away from your face. “It felt longer than two hours. How is he?”

“I think he got out of bed when I was at Chem, because there was a dirty plate near the sink and the seat was up in the bathroom, but I really haven’t seen him move all day,” he reports. When you look over your shoulder at him, his lips are twitching downward like he’s trying to smile when all he wants to do is scowl. “And trust me, I _tried_ to get him out of bed.”

“He’s stubborn when he’s sick,” you sigh, “but usually he’s pretty adamant about dying, too. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m giving you guys the room tonight, there’s a friend I can stay with a few halls over. I know you two are cuddle sluts, but he’s ill and the beds are _tiny_.”

You didn’t want to make him a dislocated roommate. “You don’t have to do that!” you protest.

“It’s for the best,” he asserts, squeezing your shoulder. “Just work some magic, I want my friend back.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you say, pursing your lips and starting to trace patterns into your yoga pants with your finger. It’s a habit, not exactly a nervous one, but something you do absentmindedly at times and others it garners the full force of your consciousness, if you don’t want to focus on anything else. “He’s never more miserable than when he’s sick.”

“Well, he’s always at his happiest when he’s with you,” Darius says, coming to a stop near a bench under a bus stop overhang, “so hopefully they balance out.”

When you make it back to his dorm, he slides in first, grabbing an overnight bag and winking as he strides back towards the stairs. Your first impression of him was gathered when he drove Eridan down to the city to see you about a month ago, and you think your first reading was pretty dang accurate: a hard worker, kind, smart as hell, perfectly alright with not being the center of attention but loving the spotlight when he gets it, loyal, and subtly, skillfully manipulative. The last bit scares you a bit, because the last thing you want is for Eridan to get conned, but then you remember the loyalty, and you think your boyfriend will be okay.

You enter the dark room, only lit by the red boxy lettering of an alarm clock. You move towards it, eyes adjusting to see the bed in front of you and the long lump under the covers, curled up on his side and completely under the thick comforter.

As you stop next to where you think his head is, you try to decide how to go about this. Finally, you decide to err on the side of caution, barely raising your voice to ask, “Are you awake?”

The covers shift, his legs stretching out and the crest of his head poking out from under the covers, though his face is still hidden. “Fef?” he questions almost silently, his voice weak and muffled from under the blankets. “Are you real?”

“Oh, lovey,” you reach forward to run your fingers through his hair, and he cringes a little at the contact so you stop, just letting your hand sit on the top of his head. “Yeah, I am.”

He scoots so his face is out in the open, covers tucked right under his chin, and you hum a warning before flicking on the lamp on his nightstand. It’s a good thing you turned it towards the opposite wall beforehand, because he flinches away from even that low light, but now you can see him in more detail. The first things you notice are his crusty eyes, because they always water excessively when he’s ill, bloodshot and squinty and free of glasses. His nose isn’t red and irritated so it isn’t a cold, but he’s certainly suffering from a sore throat. You move your hand down to his forehead and make a sympathetic noise as he leans into your touch this time. The skin is clammy and hot. “Eridan, you’re burning up.”

He nods like it’s painful to do so, cheek dragging against the pillow as he shuts his eyes and rolls his head, exposing his throat like he wants you to slit it. “Got strep,” he croaks, “includes a fev-ver.” It definitely hurts him to talk, but his voice doesn’t sound particularly croaky. Just strained.

“Have you taken anything for it?” you ask worriedly as you take the bag hanging off the back of your chair. Digging around brings out one of the various medical supplies you stuffed in there—a thermometer. Wiping the tip off with a napkin, you request, “Open up!” and he does, so you stick it under his tongue before he closes his mouth.

He makes an affirmative noise but waits to elaborate until the thermometer has beeped with a reading. “I w-went ‘n got antibiotics yesterday w-when it w-was just startin’, I hoped I’d be better today.”

“102.5 isn’t better,” you sigh, leaning down to kiss near his temple, right on top of the small collection of scars there. Your stomach twists as he presses closer to his pillow. “You poor thing, are you hot or cold?”

“Cold,” he answers, curling up tighter.

“Well we need to get your fever down, so I might have to make you a little colder, babbie. Do you have Tylenol?”

“Under the sink in the bathroom.”

You go to search for it and bring back two pills and pull from your backpack a bottle of water from your own dorm. “Drink all of this and take these, they’ll help with your fever and sore throat.”

He takes them carefully and you’re afraid he’ll spill, but you help him sit up and he downs the medicine, taking a mere swallow of water before pulling back with a whimper. “Fef, ‘t hurts.”

“How badly?”

“A _lot_.”

“You have to drink, darlin’,” you coax, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You’re dehydrated.”

He sniffs at the bottle, lips trembling, and then he finally gives in, drinking the entire thing and throwing it away petulantly in a two second tantrum. Sliding back under the covers, he turns to face the wall.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him. Gathering up all of the smallest towels you can find and making them damp with cool water takes a few minutes, but when you return he seems to be over his short hissy fit. “Lay on your stomach, please.”

He does so, and you pull the covers back. His wince at their removal makes your heart hurt, but you help him peel back his sweaty shirt and put a damp towel on his back. It covers him from shoulders to waist, and you put another on the back of his neck, covering his slightly swollen lymph nodes. A final one gets draped over his forehead, the tip dangling on the pillow, and you run your fingers lightly across his arm. “Does that feel nice?”

His nod is slight, but you see it. Leaning down, you kiss the tip of his nose. “We’ll start with this, and I’m gonna take you into the shower if you’re not asleep in fifteen minutes or so, okay? You’re gonna freeze your cute little butt off.” For emphasis, you pat that cute little butt, and he sighs, closing his eyes. He looks absolutely pitiful, cheeks red with fever and expression strained, and you hope the cold shower will help break the fever. While he rests, you do some research on Web MD and Mayo Clinic, continuing to trail your fingers up and down his arm. Once the damp towels are warm, you remove them, dump them in the sink, and return to his side to coax him out of bed.

“I’ll make you some earl grey tea of you come with me,” you promise, laying your hand on his forehead. He doesn’t feel any cooler.

“‘s not worth it,” he says, curling up into a ball.

“Have you accepted your untimely death?” you ask, reaching to pet his hair. “Is that why you haven’t been complaining about it?”

“Too painful t’ complain,” he reveals, rubbing at this throat lethargically.

In order to give him some more time to mentally prepare himself to move, you get him another cup of water. He tries to protest, but you badger, “How much have you had to drink today?”

“…A glass this mornin’ n’ the one you gav-ve me.”

You give him a Look, and he drags himself upward, taking the cup away from you and drinking slowly. You hover nearby, because his hands are shaking and you don’t want him to drop it, and when he gives you back the empty cup, you kiss his forehead and tell him to come on. Reluctantly, he gets up, revealing fluffy purple pants and the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Rubbing at his eyes, he slowly starts towards the bathroom, and you follow just behind him.

There are two towels on the counter, because you feel like he may try to drag you into this somehow. He strips carefully, using your shoulder as support as he maneuvers off his pants. “Sorry this isn’ more of a show-w,” he says with a little smirk as he peels off his boxers, letting them fall onto the floor with his pants.

“I feel like if you tried to move your hips even a little, you’d lose your balance and hit your head on something,” you say, giggling as affection swells in your chest. “You don’t need any more head injuries after that godawful graduation party.”

He makes a face and pulls back the shower curtain, stepping in and turning on the water. You peek in to see he has it on hot, and you reach over to make it much colder. As you taken his drawn together eyebrows and downturned lips, you remind him, “We’re _trying_ to break your fever.” He was already shivering, but when he starts shaking harder, you can tell he’s making it worse on purpose. With a sigh, you tell him, “Point the showerhead towards the wall and sit down,” as you move so you’re right at the edge of the tub.

You told him to do that so the water doesn’t splash out as you take the shower curtain out of his hand and move it out of your way. Once he’s sitting, you reach over, the cold spray hitting your hands. He must be freezing his ass off, and you try to compensate for that by massaging his head as his hair gets wet. Once it’s suitably soaked, you ask him to hand you his shampoo, and he complies.

When you’re done washing and conditioning his hair, some of the tension is gone from his shoulders, and the front of your clothes are damp. You let him out after ten minutes, and as you turn to get his towel, cold water splashes onto the back of your neck and head, trickling down into your shirt. Turning back around as he shuts off the water, you quirk an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

“Mhmm.” He smirks, and you toss him is towel before taking off your shirt and wrapping yourself in the spare.

You both put on something comfortable, Eridan taking out another pair of fuzzy pants and you pulling on boyshorts. With your towel still draped around your shoulders, you ignore the camisole in your bag and ask, “Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

He nods slightly when his head pops out of the one he’s pulling on. Digging around in his dresser yields one of his oldest ones—a black Guy Harvey with tarpon swimming on the back. It’s worn and about three sizes too big, but the material is soft and smells like him. The old shirts of his you have of his back at home don’t really have an Eridan scent anymore.

“Can I get you anything else?” you ask as you pour another cup of water. You won’t make him drink it right away, but it’ll be right on his nightstand. “I promised you tea.”

“Nah, Fef, you’v-ve done enough.” He gets into bed, movements sluggish and tentative. Belatedly, he says, “Thank you.”

Setting down the cup, Eridan grabs your wrists to help hoist you into his extra high bed. His grip is weaker than usual. As you lean down to fish your iPad out of your bag, you question, “Are you feeling any better?”

He shrugs minutely, sliding under the covers. “I’m a bit dizzy from all the walkin’, n’ I’m still cold, but ‘m not that sweaty anymore.” As if to prove his point, he puts his hand against your neck. The skin of his palm is warm, but not clammy.

“Well, hopefully you’ll feel better soon.” You join him under the covers, kissing his forehead right below his widow’s peak and letting him nestle his head between your neck and shoulder. The shift of your hips lets you know he’s twining his legs with yours, and you wrap an arm around him, holding him closer to your side. For a while, you watch a show on your iPad, absentmindedly tracing the ridge of his spine with your fingers. By the way he keeps burrowing closer and poking your ribcage, you know he wants more attention, so when the episode is over you indulge him, putting your tablet aside and shifting closer, engaging in full-on cuddle mode. Soon, he’s getting some much-needed rest, and you can’t help but drift off with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO YOU LIKE ERIFEF?
> 
> I hope that got your attention. I'd like to talk to you about HSWC 2014.
> 
> The Homestuck Shipping World Cup is about to begin, and I am the friendleader of Team EridanFeferi. Now, do you like EriFef? I would assume you do, because you're reading this fic. Currently, we need two more team members to be able to participate, and we have five days to get those two people. For that, I need your help.
> 
> All of the information you need can be found [here](http://autumnfox.akrasiac.org/hswcrules), and even if you don't want to sign up, please signal boost our team ads, located [here](http://redweddingcrashers.tumblr.com/post/82228666160/sign-up-here) and [here](http://wtfeveridgaf.tumblr.com/post/82516479025/hswc-2014). I hate to bother you all with this, but we don't have much time. Thank you for your assistance!


	10. A Day at the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How was it like between Eridan and Feferi after they reconciled from their big spat? Like, what did they do after, did they try to do what they both used to enjoy before? Go to the seaside? How did Feferi find out about his cuts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the summary, this was brought on by a prompt over on Tumblr. Hope you like it!

When you wake up the Saturday after school got out for the summer, you have a text from Fef, asking if you want to go to the beach with her. Glenys would drop the two of you off and leave you for as long as you wanted to be there, and you could get ice cream or even try to play mini golf at the little shack near the road if you get too bored, but Fef never gets bored at the beach so you doubt you’ll ever leave the sand.

You consider telling her you have something else to do already, because this would be the first time you’ve hung out alone with her since she decided she wanted to reconcile with you; while the school year was still going on, you’d gone to movie/board game nights at Kar’s and had pool parties at her place and started up a D&D campaign with your old group, but it hasn’t been just you and her, one-on-one. It scares you a little bit, because she could ask more pressing questions when you aren’t in a group and what if you put your foot in your mouth, causing another huge fight? You just got her back. You can’t lose her again.

Counteracting your fear, however, is the desire to spend the day with her. It hasn’t been just the two of you in a long while, and you miss those times desperately. Before you can change your mind, you tell her how much you’d love to go and she says that they’d be there to pick you up in an hour, and as you put on a bathing suit and stare at yourself in a mirror, you realize you’re an idiot.

Your right arm has twelve cuts running perpendicularly to the long bone beneath your skin, between your elbow and your shoulder. They’re obviously fresh from just last night, and a thick band-aid is covering some of them, because the last one you did on the top was deeper than you’d intended and had bled a _lot_ , coating numerous paper towels in blood as you tried to stem it. You have the evidence hidden in a box under your bed so you can throw it away once your dad goes out of town on Monday.

You’ve always worn a lot of long sleeves because you get cold easily, but you think Fef would be suspicious if you wore something that covered you up that much to the _beach_ , even if you just wear one of those short-sleeved UV shirts you have that surfers sometimes wear. The problem with those, though, is that the bottom few cuts would be left exposed, and you _do_ have one long-sleeved one, but once again: it’s suspicious.

Taking it out of your dresser, you pull it on. It’s black and tight, making you look too fucking skinny but it’ll have to do. You’ll just tell Fef you got a bad sunburn and are covering it up or something.

The scars on your legs are hidden in the thick forest of hair coating them; the only fresh ones down there are on the tops of your thighs from a few days ago, which are hidden by your bathing suit, and the saltwater is going to _sting_. Maybe you can convince Fef you’re not feeling well and she’ll let you lie in the sand as she flounders around in the ocean.

But you can’t let her go out alone—she’s a pretty strong swimmer, sure, but you’d do better caught in a rip current than she would by herself, so you’ll have to go out with her, because there’s no way she’d ever go to the beach and _not_ go in the ocean. You decide to slather a bunch of Neosporin onto all of your cuts and hope that’s enough of a protective coating for the salt to not bother you.

You have time to eat a bowl of cereal, put on some sunscreen, and check your social media accounts before Fef texts you to say she’s here. You grab your beach bag—complete with a towel, a ratty old blanket, your wallet, a change of clothes, a bag of chips, and a book for some light reading—and switch out your regular glasses for your prescription sunglasses, then head to the car.

Glenys is driving her shiny pick-up truck that has a custom pink paintjob, and it’s been a while since you’ve been in it; she’d just bought it when you and Fef had your fight. When you slide into the backseat, offering them a quiet hello, Glenys reaches back to squeeze your knee. “Hey, kid, it’s been a while! How are you?”

She’s asking because your visit over spring break, you’re sure, but all evidence of your “fight” (if you could even call Cronus punching you in the face once a _fight_ ) was gone—your broken nose had healed, and there was no longer swelling or deep purple bruising under your eyes. That had disappeared by April. “Fine,” you reply, still feeling kind of shy.

Lots of small talk follows, and you start to relax little by little. Your usual beach is only a five minute drive from your neighborhood, and it hasn’t hit peak tourist season so it’s not incredibly packed, but since it’s the weekend there’s a decent number of people around. Lifeguards are on duty and the flag is a cautionary yellow, but it rarely drops to green here so the ocean is as nice as it’s going to get.

Glenys parks and helps you unload the couple of bags and Fef’s beach wheelchair with the huge rubber wheels. She leaves with a honk, and you heft your bag over your shoulder and push Fef to the boardwalk then into the sand as she chatters on about what gorgeous weather you’re having. You find a nice spot, far enough from other people that they won’t bother you but still close enough to the lifeguards to be in their reach, and lay your blanket down. Fef takes off her sundress, revealing a cute fuchsia one-piece with a small ruffle around her waist, and pulls her hair into a ponytail high on her head. Once you take a seat next to her on the blanket, checking your phone to see if you have service (you don’t), she looks at you expectantly.

You just quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Come on, take off your shirt—let’s go in the water!”

“The shirt’s staying on. I got a bad sunburn a few days ago,” you lie.

Squinting, she leans forward to get a better look at you. “You don’t _look_ sunburnt.”

“It’s just my shoulders and arms, I only put sunscreen on my face.”

“When did you go outside? I thought you just stayed in and played video games these days!”

Huffing, you ask, “What is this, twenty questions? If you want to go in the water, let’s go.”

Her expression closes off a little and you hope you didn’t hurt her feelings somehow and ruin this already, but then her gaze flickers to her wheelchair and you a lightbulb goes off in your head. Stooping down in front of her, you say, “Come on, arms around my neck, you get the procedure. We’ve only done it a million times before.”

Fef laughs and latches onto your back, and you loop her legs around your waist and get a good grip before lifting her up. She’s just as light as you remember her being, but your cut-up arm starts aching as you walk towards the ocean. The water is cold, and you yelp as it laps at your toes once you stop in your tracks. Fef puts her head on your shoulder and whines, “What’s the hold up?”

“It’s fuckin’ cold, Fef.”

“Oh come off it—it’s seventy-nine degrees! I checked before I left the house.”

“That’s _freezing_!”

“No, you’re just a wimp!” She pulls her head away and hits the back of your neck with her forehead. “Gooooo!”

Sighing dramatically, you trudge into the water. Once it reaches the cuts on your thighs, you stop again because yeah you were right earlier—it stings a lot. Fef gets impatient again and jerks you to the side, and you stumble but don’t fall into the water like she’d wanted you to. “Ha!” you say smugly.

“Deeper!” she commands.

You hold back an immature comment and wade further in; the stinging starts to fade as you get used to it. The water gets colder with each step, but your feet are starting to go numb so the rest of you should too.

There are waves beating against your chest when Fef lets go and plunges into the depths, and you don’t dunk with her because you’re still wearing your sunglasses and don’t want to get them wet. You float on your back, your shirt keeping you slightly warmer than you would be without it, and the wetness has made the large band-aid under it slightly visible. You doubt she’ll notice it, though, because you know to look for it and she doesn’t.

The current is strong, sweeping you sideways, so you have to get out and walk along the beach a few times to get closer to your stuff, but you’re in the water for an hour before you get unexpectedly hit by a pretty big wave and you’re knocked underwater. You come up for air, your hair wild and drooping into your eyes, and Fef latches onto your bicep to steady herself. By some unlucky turn of events, some of her nails dig right into your worst cut, and the pain spikes as you hiss, shoving her off and snapping, “Fef, don’t!”

She retracts her hand quickly and goes underwater for a few seconds, then comes back up. You offer her your other arm and she grabs onto your wrist instead as you blink away tears. Fuck, it still stings terribly, even though it’s not being aggravated anymore. You can’t poke at it and let her know there’s anything worth looking at there, so you just grit your teeth and hope that the pain will go away soon. “What’s wrong?” she asks worriedly.

“Sunburn,” you lie again, still gasping. “ _Fuck_ , that hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. You keep quiet.

The world seems brighter, and you realize belatedly that the wave knocked off your sunglasses. “Fef, do you see my glasses anywhere underwater?”

She secures her goggles and dives under, coming up half a minute later. This time, you have an arm ready for her, and she grabs your left hand. Your bad cut is still throbbing painfully, just as bad as it was when you first dug too deep. “I don’t see them,” she reports.

You look for another ten minutes, but you can’t find them anywhere. Great, now you can’t go back to the blanket and read like you’d wanted to—you’ll end up with a headache if you try, since you didn’t stick your regular glasses in the bag. God, you’re such a fucking _idiot_ , why does anyone even put up with you? You can’t even take care of your goddamn glasses, and you need those to _see_.

Fef latches onto your back again, and you can feel that her grip is more careful than it was on the way down, now that she’s thinking she could hurt you. Feeling guilty about that, you hitch her up higher so she’ll be more comfortable and try to figure out what to say.

She dries off and lays down once you’re back on the blanket, and you stand there blotting yourself dry, subtly patting around your cuts under your clothes. When you pull the towel away from the ones on your arm, it comes back flecked with blood, and your stomach drops. Since the shirt is already dark and wet, the blood isn’t really noticeable by sight (according to your shitty near-vision) but it’s there. Gulping, you fold that bit of towel out of view and sit, using it as a pillow as you lie back, praying that the cut will stop bleeding now.

You think Fef falls asleep, but she’s replaced her goggles with huge, dark sunglasses, so you can’t tell. You wave a hand above her and she doesn’t react, so you think it’s safe to pull off your shirt and inspect the damage.

The band-aid covering the cut is almost completely darkened with blood, and you clench your jaw as you peel it back. The stickiness pulls the scab off the cut below it, but it’s much shallower; blood wells but doesn’t spill, almost immediately starting to congeal again. Your bad cut is surrounded in deep, angry red like it’s beginning to get infected, and now that the bandage is gone, blood starts to trickle down your arm from the side where you’d cut the deepest—the cut was on an incline, starting much too far into your tissue and becoming shallower as you realized your mistake, and you can see too much of your insides at the bad end. Taking a few shaky breaths, you dig in your bag with your good arm and find some wrinkled napkins, immediately applying pressure to the wound. Your arm screams and you clench your eyes shut, cursing the lack of public bathrooms because you’re probably going to run out of napkins before the bleeding stops and toilet paper would be helpful.

“You’re _bleeding_! Why are you bleeding?”

Your eyes fly open because she sounds so _upset_ , and when you turn she’s staring at your arm with wide eyes, sunglasses discarded on the blanket as she scoots toward you. “Let me see,” she requests, holding her hand out.

“No,” you snap, moving your shoulder away. “I’m handling it.”

“You’re not sunburned at all,” she accuses, “so what are you hiding?”

Not thinking before you speak, you just snarl, “Shut _up_ , Fef, this wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t _grabbed_ me so just fuck off!”

She looks so hurt by that, and her hand falls back into her lap. You stare at each other in silence for a few seconds before she ventures quietly, “Eridan, _please_.”

You only let her take your elbow carefully and move it towards her because you feel so guilty about yelling at her. She puts her hand over the back of yours and picks up the wad of bloody napkins, and she looks at the ladder of cuts for a while before swallowing and putting your hand back down. “Keep applying pressure. I have tissues in my bag.”

Going to the backpack hanging off her wheelchair, she rummages around as you watch in mute horror, waiting for the accusations and anger. She takes out her phone and texts someone before coming back over; hopefully she has better service than you do. “Here, take these,” she says, holding the tissues out to you. You accept them and throw the napkins down, then press down harder. It still hurts too much, and you keep your lips pursed and don’t speak.

It’s silent for a few minutes, as you keep checking to see if the bleeding has stopped only to find that it hasn’t, and Fef eventually asks, “Does it hurt a lot?”

You nod.

“I think you should get stitches,” she suggests.

“No way,” you say flatly. “I’ll stop bleeding soon.”

She sighs, like she was expecting that. “There’s some butterfly tape back at my house. I told Gran to come pick us up; we can fix you up there.”

“I can’t tell her,” you say, voice raw.

“I understand,” she says, but you doubt she actually does. “ _I’ll_ fix you up. It…” She struggles with words for a moment, then leans over to pat your knee. The gesture feels empty. “It’ll be okay, Eridan.”

You don’t respond to that.

All of your things get packed and you pull on your shirt with the wad of tissues under it, still pressed to the cut until Glenys texts that she’s here and you take it out to avoid her questioning.

You’re quiet during the ride back, and Glenys notices. “Want me to take you home?” she asks.

Shaking your head, you open your mouth to reply, but Fef beats you to it. “He’s coming over.”

“I’ll make dinner,” she says cheerily.

You’d thrown a change of clothes in your bag, so you put them on once you’re back at Fef’s and sit on her bed until she comes in with a first aid kit. She sits on the bed, facing your arm, and she pushes the sleeve back and seems pleased when the gash doesn’t appear to be bleeding anymore. Now, though, you can see the layers of skin that were cut through, exposing some deeper tissue. She makes a little pained noise in her throat before rifling around in the kit and pulling out the butterfly tape. She only needs one of the little bandages to pull the bad side of the wound closed, and you flinch as it makes the pain spike again. You find another band-aid that’s the size of the one you were wearing earlier and put it on.

Fef moves the kit to her nightstand and sits next to you, releasing a deep sigh. “We need to talk about this.”

“No we don’t.”

“I saw, before,” she says, voice shaking, “on your wrist one time, under a hemp bracelet, there were some cuts and I convinced myself it was just your cat, but…” She trails off. You guess you wouldn’t really know what to say either, in her position.

Then she’s looping one arm around your neck and the other around your chest as she hugs you tight, burying her face in your shoulder. “I want you to stop,” she says. “What can I do that’ll get you to stop?”

“Fef, it _helps_ ,” you try to convince her, and she just holds you closer. “I promise, it really does.”

“No it _doesn’t_!” she exclaims. “Eridan, hurting yourself _never_ helps!”

“How the hell would you know?” you snap. “You weren’t fucking _there_.”

She pulls away abruptly, and when you hear her sniffle you realize she’s holding back tears. _Good_ , you think viciously, then catch yourself. God what is _wrong_ with you, wanting to see her cry? She hasn’t done anything wrong, not really—you were just so _lonely_ —

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I’m sorry about the fight, and about the things I said, and—and for not _being_ there for you.”

“I’m sorry too,” you say softly.

“Sorry enough to stop?”

You reach out and take her hand. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

Squeezing her fingers, you refuse to answer her question and lean over to her nightstand to grab the two PlayStation controllers on it. “Come on, let’s just play some LittleBigPlanet. I won’t get mad when put stickers everywhere.”

She knows you’re derailing, but she lets you turn on the gaming system. You want her to just forget she ever saw anything, but you know that if the situation was reversed, you’d be questioning her non-stop.

But this is different. You’re… you. Fef doesn’t understand how you feel, she never has. You don’t expect her to come around now just because she knows a stupid secret of yours.


	11. The Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: could we see from Feferi's POV the night Eridan was sent to the hospital for his suicide attempt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the prompt or are familiar with this series, the warnings for this ficlet should be pretty obvious! There's nothing really graphic here but this isn't exactly a happy installment.

You get the text completely out of the blue. Your summer has been relatively lazy so far—you swim daily and play video games and make crafts. Right now, there’s music playing from your computer’s speakers as you browse Pinterest, and the loudness of it almost covers up the vibration of your phone. Glad for a little bit of socialization, you snatch it off your desk and read the text that came through.

Eridan: everythings gonna be alright, i promise

Frowning slightly, you unlock your phone and look at the messages before this one. You’d been talking about an old Parks and Rec episode, so there’s no way he was referencing your conversation before.

You: Well T)(AT wasn’t cryptic at all!

When he doesn’t respond after about two minutes, you start getting nervous. He _always_ texts you back fast. This is weird.

You: So w)(at’s up?

You: -Eridan, w)(at did t)(at mean?

You: You’re starting to scare me. Can you just text me back? PL----EAS-E?

Huffing in frustration after you never get a text back, you call him. The phone goes straight to voicemail, like he’d turned it off or the battery had died, and you don’t like that at all. Going back to your laptop, you look to see if he’s posted on Facebook lately. There’s nothing new, which isn’t surprising, but that means you have to check his Tumblr.

Eridan’s Tumblr is a scary place. He doesn’t know you’ve found it, and you think he’d be mortified if he did, because it’s dark, full of hopelessness. It almost makes you sick to look at, and you want to talk to him about it, but if he needs a safe space to vent, you’d feel terrible for taking that away from him.

It seems he _has_ posted on there recently, about half an hour ago. There’s a _read more_ , and under that is a wall of text. You only get two sentences in before you realize it’s a suicide note.

You call him three more times while you’re reading. His phone is still off. _Maybe he’s just being melodramatic_ , you try to soothe yourself, _you know him, that’s what he does best_. But then you get to the end— _and im afraid this wwont wwork so if pills fail i havve a gun but to be honest im afraid itll hurt_ —and you’re slamming the lid to your laptop shut and rushing to your grandma’s bedroom. You find her watching TV in bed, and you manage to get out, “We have to go to Eridan’s!” through your panic. “He won’t answer his phone, a-and he posted a suicide note—”

She gets up quickly after that, saying, “Are you sure that’s what’s going on? Should I call 9-1-1?”

For some reason, you say, “Not yet. I’m probably overreacting, he’ll probably be okay, I just need to know—!”

“Let’s go,” she says, and you do.

She asks plenty more questions on the way over, and you answer them the best you can, your fingers gripping the seat in nervousness. Once you’re in Eridan’s barren driveway, you move to open your car door, but Grandma shakes her head. “Let me go knock first.” She gets out, jogging up to the door and ringing the doorbell a bunch of times and jiggling the knob. She waits about half a minute and no one answers, so she comes back to the car. “There weren’t any lights on inside. I want you to stay here. Do you know the garage code?” she asks.

“9-2-4-5-pound,” you tell her, voice shaking. “Why won’t you let me come in?”

She meets your worried gaze, expression grim, and you know why.

* * *

 

You sit by yourself in the hospital for hours. Grandma comes to talk to you every once in a while, giving you updates— _he threw up a lot, that’s good; they’re gonna put some tubes in him to help out his liver; he woke up for a little while but wouldn’t talk_ —and you don’t begrudge her for staying with him. His father is visiting a base in South Carolina, and he was able to get leave to come back tomorrow instead of a few days from now, but neither of you wanted Eridan to be alone tonight. He isn’t allowed to be, anyway, so he might as well have someone who cares about him there.

Visiting hours are almost over by the time your grandmother comes out, looking haggard, and says, “You can see him now.”

She leads you back through corridors of patient rooms, and when you come to the one that’s his, you start crying. You hadn’t cried this whole time: not when you read the note, not when you saw him get lifted into an ambulance, not when the smells and memories of the hospital fought to overwhelm you. No, you cry now, because you don’t know what to say and you feel like you’ve failed him.

Grandma holds you, and you try to keep quiet so he doesn’t hear. You manage to get yourself back under control after a few minutes, but when you reach for the door you almost break down again so you give yourself some more time, taking deep breaths and thinking of happy things. Bright pink flowers. The ending of _The Princess Bride_. Puppies barking at themselves in mirrors.

You paste on artificial cheer, and then you enter the room. Your grandmother stays out in the hall, giving you two some time alone, so that means they trust you to some degree not to let him hurt himself.

(But you _did_ let him, you watched cuts and scars accumulate for years and let him talk about how much he hated everyone and himself with just sympathetic pats on the back—)

“Hi,” you say with a shaky smile as you head over to him.

“Hey, Fef,” he says, voice hoarse, when you’ve rolled to a stop near his head. He’s turned toward you, eyes unshielded by his glasses, and there’s a thin white tube going into his nose. Grandma said he’d been on oxygen for a while, but now there’s no cannula or mask over his face. In the hours you’ve had alone with your thoughts, there were a lot of things you imagined he’d look like once you got in here. You thought he’d be angry or blank or very, very sad. He just seems embarrassed, and that almost hurts more than any of those other things would have.

What jars you more than the machines he’s hooked up to is the fact that he’s in short sleeves. You can’t think of the last time he wasn’t wearing some kind of cardigan or sweater; it puts his arms on display, showing rows of pale white scars on his forearms and the darker scores of a razor on his triceps. It makes you upset all over again, but you won’t cry in front of him. You _won’t_.

You don’t think you’re _supposed_ to hug him while he’s hooked up to an IV line and whatever’s in his nose, but you have to. Scooting forward in your chair so your knees are against his bed, you ask, “Can you sit up? Or are you too tired?” He struggles to prop himself up on his elbows, and you hurry to say, “It’s okay if you can’t—”

“No, it’s fine,” he snaps, shifting into position.

Pursing your lips at the bit of harshness of his tone, you decide to disregard it and hug him anyway. The railing of the bed digs into your ribs as you lean over and he doesn’t hug you back, which only makes you squeeze him tighter. “I love you,” you say into his shoulder.

“I know,” he sighs. He sounds annoyed.

_Then why would you do this?_ you don’t ask. You’d talked to people earlier about this, and they’d warned you not to say anything that would pin the blame on him. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t _anyone’s_ fault.

Pulling back, you settle into your chair. Grandma had said you could stay until visiting hours were over in about thirty minutes as long as you didn’t do anything to make him upset. She’d stay the night with him, since no one else could, and Meenah would come pick you up. Even if Eridan’s voice was sharp, you could see the tired slump of his shoulders and the grogginess in his eyes. However, you wanted to make him feel better, even if he just seemed irritated with you.

Before the silence can stretch to awkward, you scramble to find a light topic of conversation. “So, I was looking at application essay prompts—”

“Seriously?” he questions, cutting you off with a pointed laugh. “ _That_ is what you’ve deemed appropriate to talk about?”

Oh no, maybe that’s what set him off in the first place; you know his dad was trying to force him into the Naval Academy and he was terrified about not getting into good schools, you’re such an _idiot_!

“I don’t want to skirt around the issue when you’ve obviously just gotten done _crying_ , okay?” he huffs, falling back onto the shitty mattress. “I can handle a real conversation, I promise.”

Reflexively, you wipe at your cheek with the heel of your hand, even though there’s nothing there. Maybe there are leftover mascara streaks or something. “Eridan, I…” you start, but don’t finish. You still don’t know what to say. You _can’t_ know.

He takes a deep breath, rubbing at his forehead and closing his eyes. “How did you know?” he asks, voice neutral.

You worry your lip, gazing at the sheets of his bed until he opens his eyes and stares at you, practically demanding an answer. “I found the note on your Tumblr,” you admit.

His face goes blank. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, monotone.

“I’m not,” you say, firm. “It saved your life.”

He snorts. “I wouldn’t have died. I just would’ve gotten pretty sick.” _There was a gun in the sink_ , you remember Grandma telling you, and you give him a Look. He gets what you’re implying. His voice is quiet. “I… I wasn’t going to be able to shoot myself, okay? I’m a coward.”

“That doesn’t make any of this okay,” you say. Your voice breaks.

“Nothing will,” he says simply.

You want to reach out and hold his hand. You want to stroke his hair and tell him that he’s wrong, everything’s going to be fine. He’ll get help and work hard and finally stop being so goddamn depressed. He just needs to _try_ instead of attempting to exit the world and not deal with this crap.

But you don’t say any of this. You feel like he’s less okay right now than he’s letting on, and you don’t want to make him _really_ upset. He’s still very tired and you can tell he wants to sleep, but since you’re here he keeps himself awake, and you sit in silence for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs and feeling conflicted.

“Just tell me what I can _do_!” you burst out when the silence becomes too much.

He barks a laugh. “It’s not that simple! You can’t fix _anything_. Ugh, that’s a problem with you—you always think you have the ability to fix every little thing that goes wrong in other people’s lives. Well here’s some news for you: you can’t fix _shit_.”

You feel tears start to build up again. You told yourself you weren’t going to cry in front of him, and you aren’t. Taking a shuddering breath, you try to think of something, anything that would make this better. You come up with, “Do you remember the first time you visited me in the hospital, after the accident?”

Eridan goes silent, so you know he does. He stares at the ceiling, thinking hard, and then he sighs. “Yeah, okay, I get your point.”

“Were you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know what to say?”

“No.”

“Were you—?”

“Fef, I _said_ I got it already!” he exclaims. He doesn’t sound angry or annoyed anymore; his voice had cracked.

Feeling just slightly better, you lean forward, putting your elbow on your thigh and propping your chin in your palm. With your free hand, you reach out. He takes your hand, resting the pair of them on top of the sheets. There’s more vulnerability and a compromise in his voice when he quietly requests, “Talk about your cuttlefish.”

You do.


	12. Sneeze-Covered Scantron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's Feferi's turn to get sick, and it turns out she's considerably less whiny when ill. Who knew, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from a prompt over on tumblr: It's Feferi's turn to get sick, in a very awful dizzying cold sort of way, and there's nothing worse than sneezing hard enough to fall off your bed and knowing you can't get up after. Damn.

He calls you about five minutes after you get back from your exam. You’d just forced down two NyQuil and are sitting on the floor next to your toilet just in case you throw them up, cheek against the cold porcelain, when you answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is too loud. You flinch and turn down the volume, head continuing to pound. “How was the test?”

“Terrible,” you say, done pretending. All week, you’d refused to take calls from him under the guise of studying too hard to chat, but honestly you didn’t want him to know you were sick. He would’ve been too clingy and concerned, and you needed space if you wanted to do well.

And you didn’t do well. You know you didn’t—you had to put your head down a few times because the room was spinning, you got tissues all over your workspace, and you sneezed on your scantron. Now, you just want to lie down and _not_ vomit. Eridan asks, “What? You felt confident a few days ago. Was it that bad?”

“It just…” you sigh. “I couldn’t really focus.”

“You don’t sound good,” he says, finally starting to pick up on it. “Are you sick?”

“Mhmm,” you reply, letting your eyes slip closed. It makes the room spin a little less. “Bad cold, or something. At least I can relax now that the test is over.”

“Do you want me to come?” he asks, sounding concerned. “I can be there in two hours.”

It’s already pretty late—just past nine—and you don’t really like him driving at night. Plus, Eridan can be kind of annoying when someone around him is sick, usually keeping his distance, spraying lots of Lysol disinfectant, and constantly washing his hands. You don’t need the added stress of playing host to your boyfriend, even if he has good intentions. “No thanks,” you murmur, running a finger down the line of grout between the floor tiles. “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I only have one class tomorrow, my lab got cancelled.”

You miss him, but you make yourself say, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He talks to you for the next half hour as you doze with your cheek pressed against the toilet; your conversation ends abruptly, with you saying, “I have to go!” before you lean over and retch.

For an hour after, you lay on the bathroom floor and doze. It’s the first time you’ve been sick away from home, and you wish your grandma was here to make you soup and fetch blankets and go on pharmacy runs. Eventually, your nausea is almost gone, so you pull yourself into your chair and go back to your room, flopping tiredly into bed and pulling your soft duvet around you. You fade in and out of consciousness for a while, waking to titanic sneezes that make your whole body rock, and at some point, there’s a knock on your door. You tell them to come in.

“Feferi?” your roommate says, peeking around the door. “Your boyfriend is here.”

What? You’d told him not to come. “Are you sure he’s mine?” you ask, rolling over onto your side.

“Um, yeah,” she says, looking behind her. “Unless you broke up and forgot to tell me.”

“No, no. Let him in.”

The door slips closed for a few seconds, and you’re tempted to grab your phone to check on your hair but really, who gives a shit what your hair looks like right now? At least you gargled after you threw up.

Then Eridan is here, slipping quietly into the room and putting his bag down as far away from the bed as he can. You expect him to start unpacking cleaning supplies, but instead he immediately comes over to the bed, putting a hand on your forehead, then pressing the back of it to your cheek. “Hey,” you say faintly.

“I know you told me not to come,” he says, already on the defensive, “but you took care of me when I was sick, so I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t do the same. You feel hot.”

You edge closer to him and sit up, blinking hard when a wave of dizziness hits. He tries to make you lie back down, pushing your shoulder lightly, but instead you let your head fall into his ribs. He puts a hand on your hair, his ringed fingers tangling in your curls. “Thanks,” you say, fighting the spinning room. “Thank you.”

He leans down, kissing the crown of your head. “You need water.”

 _I’ll just throw it up_ , you want to say, but you probably _are_ dehydrated. You nod into his chest and he leaves to go to the kitchen. This, of course, is when you go into another massive sneezing fit, and since you’d moved to the edge of the bed to be closer to Eridan, on the penultimate sneeze you lose your balance and hit the floor, bashing your elbow pretty hard and bringing the covers down with you. You sneeze again when you hit, but after that you’re done for now. For a minute, you just lie on the ground and try to get your breath back, gathering the energy to pull yourself back into bed. You feel so weak and tired and your dizziness is back, so instead of moving, you squeeze your eyes shut and try not to throw up.

You’re not as nauseated anymore once Eridan comes back. “Whoa, how’d you get down there?” he asks, quickly walking over. He sets a bottle of water down on your nightstand and crouches next to you.

“Fell,” you say weakly.

“Oh, Fef,” he says, sounding kind of sad. You don’t like it when he sounds sad. It reminds you of bad times. He wraps his arms around your back and under your knees, lifting you slowly like he knows fast movements would be bad for you, and instead of just putting you back into bed, he sits down, swinging his legs up and putting you between them. Leaning back to the floor, he grabs the blankets and pulls them around the both of you. It surprises you—this is not the distance he normally keeps when someone near him is ill, and even though you don’t want to get him sick, you can admit his skin feels nice and cool against yours.

Still, you protest, “You’ll get it, too.”

“I drank three cups of Airborne on the way here,” he says, his arm tightening around you. “I’ll be fine.”

He reaches over to grab the water, and you carefully drink half the bottle, taking your time. Earlier, you’d moved the trash can closer to the bed just in case, but you don’t think you’ll need it; most of the nausea has subsided. Your headache, however, is nearly reaching migraine levels of hurt, and you feel so shaky and dizzy still. Now that you’re not the only one taking care of you, you let yourself be miserable, curling around Eridan and resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Need anything else?” he asks softly, rubbing your back. It feels really nice, combatting the rest of you.

“No,” you say almost forcefully. “Stay here.”

“Okay,” he says with a small chuckle.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, only the sounds of your breathing and skin-on-skin contact reaching your ears, and soon Eridan reaches over to turn off the lamp, making it dark. Once he settles back in, you request, “Talk to me?”

“About what?” he asks, his tone matching your quietness, and that’s exactly what you wanted—his voice isn’t necessarily _obnoxious_ at normal volume, but it’s much nicer when it’s low and velvety.

“Anything,” you say, but then you retract that. “Anything but politics and military history.”

“What about pirates?” he says.

You comply, letting your eyes slip shut. Still stroking your back, he talks about brigands and swordfights and clashes with mid-seventeenth century trading companies, and eventually you’re lulled to sleep.


	13. Christmas Party 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompt: Eridan and Feferi's first Christmas home from College, maybe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe? Yes! I debated leaving this prompt for a Christmastime fill but then decided fuck that, I've taken too long already. Hope you like it!

Since the Peixes family Christmas party was in Washington last year, Glenys was supposed to host this year, but the Crockers just finished some extensive renovations on their mountainside manor, so the extended family was coaxed into returning there two years in a row. For the first time since you were sixteen, you’ve been invited, half because you’ve been upgraded to Significant Other status and half because your dad called during finals week and said he’d be out of the country for the majority of your winter break. “I’ll still be around the day you get your wisdom teeth out,” he assured you, “but two days later, I’m being sent to Germany. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you say. You can’t really say anything else. You’re not a toddler—you can’t pitch a fit because daddy isn’t gonna be home for Christmas. At least he isn’t ditching you at the hospital and running.

So three days after your surgery, he’s already been gone for a day and you’re boarding a plane to Washington. Fef keeps trying to show you videos of what happened after she brought you a frosty an hour after you got home from the procedure, since you don’t really remember and she says you’re really funny, but you _think_ you might’ve cried at some point so you’re steering clear of them for now.

Glenys didn’t want to take their usual pilot away from her family for Christmas, so instead of taking their private jet, you’re flying first class. It’s been a while since you had to do all the security bullshit, which is always annoying, but the plane ride is surprisingly okay—you just watch movies with Fef and occasionally press a water bottle to your face when you start feeling sore at the higher pressure. You get off in Chicago and get a connecting flight; it’s basically the same thing after, except Meenah periodically kicks the back of your seat, and you somehow manage to ignore her for most of the flight.

You stay in a nice hotel about fifteen minutes away from the house. Glenys booked a suite with two bedrooms, each equipped with two queen-sized beds. You figured she’d let you and Fef take the same room, but to your surprise, she sticks Meenah in with you, probably to cut down on possible bedroom shenanigans. Joke’s on her—fucking in a hotel room seems very unsanitary, and you don’t even want to try it, plus you don’t really feel like kissing with stitches in your mouth.

Meenah snores. She sounds like a lawnmower and you wish you brought earplugs, and you think that maybe Glenys did this to you on purpose. It takes a while for you to fall asleep even though the bed is comfy as hell, and once you finally do, you wake up to Fef plopping onto the bed. There isn’t light coming in through the curtains, so you squint in the darkness, muttering, “What time is it?”

“Around 2am,” she replies, getting under the covers and pressing up against you. Her toes are freezing, but Meenah has rolled onto her side, ending her snoring reign of terror. “It took grandma a long time to fall asleep.”

Great, it seems you’ve only had half an hour of sleep so far. “Same,” you sigh.

She doesn’t seem to want to do anything besides sleep, so you lethargically wrap an arm around her waist and tuck her closer. She has a cami on, since it’s cool enough in the room to warrant one, but you tug it up some so the soft skin of your wrist is on her exposed belly. She asks, “Your mouth hurting?”

“Not really. You know how I am with sleep, plus your sister was—”

“I knoooow, she _snores_ ,” she laments, patting your hand. “Poor thing. Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s fine,” you say, actually meaning it. You’d much rather have her here than in the next room. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

This time when you wake up, light is edging around the curtains, and you’re on your back. Fef has somehow managed to sleep with one hand fisted in your shirt and her cheek pressing into your shoulder, and she’s so warm you can’t complain about the pins and needles in the arm she’s lying on. There’s a noise from somewhere in the room and you realize what woke you wasn’t the light, but the door connecting the two bedrooms opening. Your sleepy gaze moves to Glenys, and she murmurs, “I just wanted to make sure she was here, even though I did tell her not to come over.”

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly, rubbing at your eyes with the hand that isn’t pinned under Fef’s body. “It’s not like… We didn’t… We just slept. It’s cozier.”

Glenys sighs and comes to sit at the foot of the bed. She’s dressed and ready to go, so you figure this is just part of her wake-up call, but she surprises you by asking, “How are you doing, Eridan? Really.”

“I’m…” The excuse dies on your lips at first, but then you find another (weaker) one. “Okay.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she huffs. “Feffy worries about you a lot.”

“I know,” you say. “I worry about her, too.” She gives you a Look to finally fess up, and you let out a breath. “I did relapse a bit earlier in the semester, when I wasn’t doing therapy. But now I have a decent therapist again and I’m doing better.”

“School is stressful,” she says, remembering. “You can always talk to me, Eridan.”

“I know,” you say, and your throat closes up a little for some reason. “Thank you.”

It’s quiet for a beat, and then she says loudly, “Now come on, get up! It’s time to start the day.”

You wince at the noise and Fef groans loudly, rolling off of you and almost smacking you in the face with her hand. Meenah chucks a pillow across the room, completely missing her grandma and hitting you instead in the—you guessed it—face. You’re still kind of uneasy about going to Crocker Manor, but you feel a little bit better now.

 

* * *

 

John comes to pick you up from the hotel, and both the Peixes girls are able to converse naturally so you can stare out the window. Washington is gorgeous but cold—you have thicker coats now because you have to deal with New England winters, but you still feel a chill in even your thickest one. However, it’s surprisingly warmer than it was in New Haven when you left, but having been back in Florida was a treat for your cold-hating sensibilities.

You already can’t wait to go back. You’re here because Fef and Glenys wanted you to come. That’s it. You wanted to spend winter break _warm_ , thank you very much.

John tries to talk to you a little bit, which surprises you because he’s always thought you were a douchebag and neither of you particularly like each other. You guess college has improved each of your social skills at least a little bit, since you get through a civil (albeit clipped) conversation about Yale vs UCLA and the vastly different climates with Fef chiming in every once in a while about Columbia as Meenah groans about the swamp she’ll soon be graduating from even though you know she loves it there. (You still have the UF hoodie she gave you, stuffed at the bottom of your dresser at school, and you wear it around your dorm whenever Darius decides to crank up the AC _during the winter, what the fuck Darius_.)

It’s still about an hour before the designated start time, and in order to keep the lot of you out of the way, Fef and Meen give you a tour of the house as Glenys and John head to the kitchen to help out John’s family. The mansion really is in a sublime location, where you can see the forest around extend for miles on the room made entirely of windows on the top floor. There’s a hatch in the ceiling so a telescope can get a better view at the sky and Fef teases that if you behave, she’ll get Jade to set it up later. You grumble about not making any promises, but your interest is piqued and you’re in a slightly better mood now.

Though you’ve all outgrown the kids’ table, you’re still seated with Fef, John, Jade, and Meenah at the main table. There are a few much younger cousins and great-grandkids who you’ve never met who get situated at the smaller table, but you don’t really get along well with kids so you try to avoid them—not from disdain or anything, but there’s a chance you could make one of them cry. Last time you interacted with a child under ten, you were a math tutor for NHS and you snapped a little bit too hard and _bam_ , there were the waterworks. Kids are way too sensitive and should be evaded.

Fef’s mother came in at the last possible second before the meal started, somehow avoiding a flustered disposition after rushing here. She’s seated on the exact opposite side of the table from you and Fef, which is fine by her. Meenah is more petulant, but you’re sure Cordelia will want to spend some time with her eldest daughter later.

Surprisingly, as the first course is set out, you and Jade somehow manage to start talking. Though she’s nuclear engineering and you’re ecology and evolutionary biology, you’re both taking physics and organic chemistry this semester, and while you’re sure your two schools teach it differently, both are hard as _shit_ and for once you have something to bond over. Fef easily floats in and out of your conversation and starts up her own with the surrounding adults while you sip on some freshly-squeezed lemonade, rather than the champagne and wine the _actual_ adults are having. It kinda makes the cuts in your mouth sting, but it’s so good that you deal with it.

You eat so much food. By the third course, you’re stuffed, but you saw _three_ giant layer cakes in the kitchen and you’re holding out for those, two more courses from now. You honestly shouldn’t be eating food like this for at least another week—a fact that stays at the back of your mind because of an ache in your mouth that started around course two—but it’s just too good to pass up.

One plate of food away from dessert, you wish you’d taken your dentist’s advice because there’s a jab of pain as you start chewing a particularly tough piece of steak and you reflexively raise your hand to your cheek, then flinch and put it back down on the table to pretend like nothing happened, even as your mouth starts to fill with coppery blood.

Chewing and swallowing your food as quick as you can, you decide you need to get out of here, since you don’t really want to keep swallowing blood. Leaning close to Fef, you say in a low voice, “Remind me where the bathroom is; I drank a metric fuckton of lemonade.”

She obviously noticed your cringe a second ago and is about to call you on it when John speaks up; he’d heard. “I need to piss too, I’ll show you where it is,” he says before Fef can answer, getting up from the table. You’re kind of taken aback by his offer, but your mouth is slowly filling with blood so you just shrug and follow him out of the dining room and around the corner. The bathroom John brings you to has a fucking chaise lounge in it, along with more normal items, like two gorgeously accented sinks under a huge mirror. You look a bit white in the face, and you wave John towards the door where the separate toilet room probably is. He goes to the door next to it, since you probably gestured towards the linen closet or something, and he shuts the door.

Hunching over the sink and noticing that there’s relaxing piano music playing in the background (wow the Crockers really go all-out, don’t they?), you spit. The brilliant white of the sink turns red; there’s even a thick, dark glob of congealed blood that makes you cringe. You spit more, then lean closer to the mirror to inspect the inside of your mouth. Your teeth have turned a pinkish color from the bleeding, and you see that a stitch got knocked loose on the bottom and a small portion of the incision opened up. They should be dissolving in the next day or two anyway so you doubt it’s a big deal, so you figure you’ll just wait to stop bleeding then go back out.

Just as you’re spitting again, John comes up to the other sink and glances over. “Holy shit!” he exclaims, and you feel your ears heating up as you turn on the water and wash away some of the blood. “Are you okay?”

He actually sounds concerned—probably because this isn’t exactly what he was expecting to see—and that throws you. “Yeah,” you respond, then spit again. “Got my wisdom teeth out an’ I knocked a stitch.” Spit.

“Do… Do you want me to go get Feferi?” he asks.

Shaking your head, you cup your hands to get some water to gargle with. It probably looks fuckin’ savage in such a fancy restroom, but John can deal. You swish the water around and spit again; the water is hardly pink. “Nah, nothin’ to worry about. Go back an’ eat.”

“Oh. Kay?” he says, sounding conflicted. “If you’re not back in, like, ten minutes, I’ll come make sure you’re not passed out from blood loss.”

“Thanks,” you say without looking at him or meaning it. He slips out, and you gargle a couple more times, and when the water is clear and the throb has died down, you go back out.

“Are you all right?” Fef asks immediately when you sit back down and you nod. You catch John looking at you, and he immediately glances back down to his plate. Maybe this’ll hold off any pranks he had planned for you this year.

It seems you got back just in time for the cake. You eat one piece because that’s all you can fit in your gullet and Fef manages to pack in three; you have no clue how she does it. You’re quieter now and you don’t know if anyone notices, but once dinner is over Jade says she can take you upstairs and get the telescope lined up with a pretty neat star cluster.

You don’t think she finds you creepy anymore. Good.

Fef stays behind downstairs, and you get a good look at the stars, somehow managing to avoid a fight with Jade about the future of space travel and all that entails. As you’re walking back down, she says she needs to grab something from John’s room and leaves you to find your way back to the grandiose dining hall.

It turns out you don’t have to go all the way back there—you hear Fef talking in one of the hallways near it, and by her tone, she sounds irked. “Look, I’m just really busy. Sure, I don’t really want to be the disabled poster child for your gross campaign, but I honestly have so much going on—”

“Oh, really?” Cordelia snaps, putting a hand on her hip. “ _I_ think you don’t like spending time with me. I know you don’t miss me when I’m away so don’t even try to fake that, but I’m your mother for God’s sake, I should at least get some of your time. Eridan,” she says abruptly, and you blink hard. You didn’t think she saw you at the end of the hall; Fef turns. Her mother’s voice is much sweeter now, sympathetic, like she just flicked her Politician Switch on. “Don’t you with you’d spent more time with your mother before she passed?”

You almost snap _fuck off_ reflexively because how _dare_ she, but then you remember where you are and who you’re talking to and reign yourself in. Fef recovers first, biting, “That was low, even for you,” and making to head back to the dining room. “Come on, Eridan.”

Though you don’t really like to be called like a dog, you really do want out of here. As you pass by Cordelia, who hasn’t stopped looking at you, you murmur, “She is pretty busy.”

“I’ll go talk to Mom about it,” she huffs, obviously dissatisfied with the turnout, and strides away in the opposite direction.

“Where’d Jade go?” Fef asks tightly, like she really doesn’t care about the answer.

“John’s room,” you say, and she sighs. She’s taken you past the dining room into the den, where there’s a lit fireplace and the voices of the partygoers are indistinct. Stopping near the fire, she gestures for you to sit in a plush armchair, and you sink into it.

Sighing, Fef puts her head in her hands. “God, she’s awful.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, trying to make it sound sincere.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” she counters. “I’m sorry that… that she said that to you.”

Your mother always has been and always will be a sore subject, but that’s not her fault. “Fef, it’s okay. Your mom’s a bitch and it sucks.”

Fef just huffs again then scoots to the edge of her chair. You help her get onto your lap, and you move her legs over the armrest so she can wrap her arms around you and press her cheek into your shoulder. She’s warm and still smells like the sea, and you rub your hand slowly up and down her back, both of you staring into the fire. Shoving your run-in with Cordelia to the back of your mind, you focus on the rest of the day and decide that coming to Washington wasn’t that bad.

“I’m glad you came with us,” Fef says quietly, dropping a kiss on your clavicle. “I know you didn’t really want to, so thanks.”

You lay your cheek on her hair, thinking about being left alone in your big, empty house. You like being alone sometimes, sure, but you know yourself and you know the loneliness would’ve set in fast. “I’m glad I came too,” you say, because you didn’t make anyone hate you and you’re not alone, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax.


	14. Not an Internet Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feferi spends some time with Eridan after he gets his wisdom teeth out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on tumblr wanted this, unsurprisingly. I knew when I made a comment about Fef having a video of Eridan coming down from an anesthesia high in the last fill that I would be asked to write it lmao.

“Fef.”

“Hmm?”

“Fef.”

“Yeah?”

“Feeeeef.”

Eridan’s frosty cup is empty. It had taken him a while to eat it—it eventually melted so he basically had to drink it near the end—but it’s good that he got _something_ in his stomach so he could take his pain meds. You figure that’s what he wants, because he’s not being all that vocal right now, so you take the frosty cup away and put it on his nightstand, then grab a room temperature bottle of water and the orange prescription tube. The instructions say he only needs one, so you shake a capsule out onto your palm and offer it to him. Instead of taking it, he just opens his mouth, and you roll your eyes. “No, come on, you’ll choke. Hand me your ice pack and sit up.”

Sticking his lower lip out, he shifts and sits up slowly, squinting without his glasses and sulkily giving his ice to you. His hands aren’t shaking as badly as they were when you first gave him the frosty, so he doesn’t spill when he tosses the pill in his mouth and drinks. Soon, you’re taking the water bottle back and setting it down so he can flop face-first into your lap.

“Ow,” he whines as you pass him his ice pack. “That hurt. It hurt like. Like there was a bee stinger sticking out of your leg. And your leg was a bee. And.” He blinks, completely losing his train of thought. You wonder if he had one to begin with. “Fef. You ever wonder why we’re here?”

“Eridan,” you say as sweetly as you can, dragging your fingers through his hair, “this is the fifth time you’ve quoted Red vs Blue at me. You need some original material!”

“I do?” he asks, and when you just laugh a little, his resolve strengthens. “I do! I can do it. I’m Eridan Optimus Prime Ampora, I can do fuckin’ anything.”

You remind him, “Your middle name is Primus,” as you dig in your pocket for your phone.

“That’s fuckin’ stupid,” he says, switching the cheek the ice pack is on. “Who did that? I want them fired.”

“You can’t fire your parents,” you say reasonably, unlocking your phone and opening up the camera. Switching it to video, you press record. It’s pretty close to his face at the moment, but since Eridan is interested in staring mournfully at one of his old tank posters and his near-vision sucks, he doesn’t notice. “They sign your paycheck.”

His eyes fly open and he turns his head in your lap, so he’s looking up at you slack-jawed. “I’m supposed to get a _paycheck_? I’ve never gotten one! This has gotta be workplace malpractice. It’s gotta be. Do you know any lawyers?”

“I know a couple,” you say, flicking his nose.

“Ow,” he says again, shrinking back. “Don’t do that. Hurt my teeth. Or, lack of teeth? Maybe? When do I get those back?”

“Sorry, babs,” you apologize, going back to stroking his hair to show that you didn’t mean to hurt him. Your other hand, holding the phone, still hovers in the air near his head. “I don’t think you get them back.”

He groans, shifting again and looking back at the wall. “I was gonna make a cool necklace and sell it on Etsy.” Mournfully, he continues, “I was gonna make _millions_ , Fef. Teeth are totally in this season. Kan said so.”

“I’m sure she did,” you allow, even though you are sure of no such thing. Even as he talks, his eyelids are starting to droop, and you ask, “Getting sleepy?”

“Been sleepy. But also nauseous. Nauseated? Nauseated. That’s the right one, right? Maybe? What language did English fuck to get the puke-y words?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully, repressing giggles because he sounds so _earnest_.

He sighs hard then flinches. “Ow. Owwwwww-wuh.” When he finally finishes the w, he turns towards you and pokes you hard in the thigh, and you think it’s almost time to stop videoing him; he’s not being too entertaining, anyway. “Why this.”

Before you can respond, his eyes blow wide. “Oh my God. Oh God. You’re recording me.”

“No I’m not,” you try to tell him, but he’s not having it.

“Fuck, the NSA is gonna come for me. Fuckin’ Big Brother or Lord English or whatever. They’re gonna see and oh my _God_ ,” his voice breaks and he rolls away from you, curling around his small ice pack like it’s a teddy bear. Eridan seems genuinely upset and you don’t really know why, so you toss your phone onto the bed a foot away and scooch over to him. “Oh my God, you’re gonna put me on the internet.”

His voice has gone all high and wavy, shaking with suppressed tears, and you don’t know why this set him off. Sure, you’d heard of people crying about some pretty damn inconsequential things while they were coming down from an anesthesia/laughing gas combo, but you didn’t think _Eridan_ would cry about anything.

You feel bad. Somehow, you still think this is kind of funny, and that makes you feel even worse. “Hey,” you coo, reaching out to touch his shoulder, “hey babs, it’s okay—”

“No it’s not!” His voice is still stuffed with tears, and he hiccups. Rolling back towards you, he shows the full force of his watery blue eyes, and the tears spill over. “I don’t wanna be an internet sensation. I mean,” another sob-hiccup, “I do. For something cool, though. Like ice skating while fencing or doing a backflip. But not for—for—” He can’t seem to decide what category this falls under, so he just wails, “ _THIS_!” and his arm reaching to the ceiling dramatically before flopping back down to the bed. “Ow,” he says belatedly after each sob. “Ow.”

You try to shush him, situating his head back onto your lap and combing your fingers through his hair again, trying to be extra gentle. With your other hand, you use your thumb to wipe off his face, trying to be extremely careful when touching his cheeks. They’re swollen and red you can still vividly see in your head how much blood was on the gauze when you took it out of his mouth so he could eat. He’s had a rough day, with surgery and after, and you made him _cry_.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, because usually when you apologize to Eridan you don’t quite mean it—you’re just teasing him because you love him, and it’s funny!—but you hate making him cry, even about things he shouldn’t be crying about. It feels like a punch in the gut.

He sniffles a few more times, then mutters, “I better get royalties.”

In a few minutes, he tells you to go turn off the light, so you slide into your chair and do so before hopping back onto the bed, barely remembering to finally shut your phone’s video off and toss it onto the nightstand. Eridan gets under the covers and holds them up expectantly for you to do the same, so even though it’s only 3pm and you’re not at all tired, you do. He keeps holding the ice pack to his cheek, and even though he should probably give it a rest, now his eyes are puffy like his cheeks and you don’t have the heart to take it away from him.

Wrapping his free arm around your waist, he cuddles up to you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and closing his eyes. When he sniffs, he sounds clogged-up still. After a few minutes of quiet, he ventures, “You ever wonder why we’re here?”

Sighing, you go back to stroking his hair and hope that he doesn’t expect an answer to that question this time.


	15. A Friendly Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt on Tumblr.

You stand on the Peixes’ porch for ten minutes like a coward, letting blood leak out between your fingers and taking deep, shuddering breaths. It looks like you’re crying, because you got punched in the nose and that turns on the waterworks, but you swear you’re not. You’re too mad to cry, so you won’t out of spite.

On Friday, Karkat had mentioned off-handedly that the girls were having a sleepover tonight, but you don’t know where. Usually, those sorts of things happen at Fef’s place, but you can’t hear anyone out back and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of activity around the mansion. However, you still don’t really want to knock, because _what if they_ are _here_ ; Fef _can’t_ see you like this, not when you haven’t spoken to her in months.

That said, it’s quite obvious that you didn’t come here for her.

You just needed to get out of there. Cronus doesn’t bother you much anymore, but dad’s been away for a day or two and Cronus is between hookups, so somehow he thinks hey, I’ve got a brother who’s not doing much—

But then you had the gall to be _scared_ and he hit you harder than anyone ever has, and he somehow had the nerve to apologize and pretend like you weren’t fucking _bleeding_ , so you ran.

Having only just turned fifteen, you’d recently acquired your learner’s permit and therefore couldn’t drive on your own yet. You wish you could, just so you could hop in a car and go wherever the fuck you wanted to—and maybe even sleep in it so you wouldn’t have to go home—but that was a fantasy and in the real world, all you could do was run down the street, your feet tracing a path that’s almost automatic.

As you swallow and try to make yourself knock, you brace yourself for the rejection. Glenys _must’ve_ heard about the fight—Fef would’ve whined her little head off about what a mean, insensitive _jerk_ you were, and she would’ve complained about how you didn’t care about her, and said that you were just using her because you needed someone to dump all your petty grievances onto and she was the only person patient enough to listen. “It’s all _give_ and no _take_ with you,” you remember her snarling, fists clenched in her lap. “You only care about yourself, you’ve only _ever_ cared about yourself—oh, well, I guess that’s a bit unfair. You _also_ care about making people feel like _shit_ and talking down to everyone!”

Your hands curl into fists without really thinking, and since they’re clutching your nose, the pain flares and you flinch. The sharpness of it clears your head though, like pain tends to do for you, and you come up with enough resolve to quickly ring the doorbell. There, no more deliberating. Either she answers or she doesn’t.

The door opens within a minute. Glenys in dressed in a tracksuit but isn’t at all sweaty, so she’d probably been about to start working out in the gym near the back of the manor. She gapes at you for a second, blinking hard—both because it’s _you_ and you’re _here_ , plus you have blood snaking down your arms and staining your shirt. “Eridan, what on Earth happened?” she questions. “Come in!”

Standing your ground, you say, “Is Fef here?” Your voice is deeply nasal.

“No, I’m sorry, dear, she’s out with friends—”

“Good,” you say, cutting her off and finally allowing yourself to slip inside. Glenys shuts and locks the door behind you, and it’s only once you’re in that you think to ask, “What about Meenah?”

“She isn’t here either,” Glenys replies, and you practically sag with relief. “Now follow me, we’re going to the kitchen and I’m making you tea.”

You’ve never had the heart to tell her that you don’t really like her tea, and you can’t make yourself own up to it today. Releasing a breath through your teeth, you head towards the kitchen at a much slower pace than the spry older woman.

"Sit," she directs the second you walk through the archway, and gulping, you pull out one of the wooden barstools that surround the kitchen island and plop down, still cradling your nose. “Here,” she hands you a wad of paper towels, some of which are damp, “I’ll get you some Tylenol and ice.”

“Thank you,” you say, because you’ve been working on improving your manners and that’s something you feel like you should say to someone who’s helping you. Gingerly, you begin to blot at the blood under your nose, then scrape the dried stuff off your face and arms. You think it’s stopped bleeding, but your face continues pulsing with a steady _throb_ , _throb_ , _throb_ and your eyes keep watering every time you even get close to touching your nose.

After there are a few crumpled, dirty paper towels on the counter, Glenys comes over with your tea, microwaved instead of boiled in a kettle so it was made faster. Instead of sitting down across from you like you thought she would, she takes the seat on your right, handing you a little white capsule and urging you to sip your tea. It’s burning hot and tastes like ass, but you don’t let yourself make a face. “Let me see,” she says once you set your mug down, and you tilt your chin up a bit, not meeting her gaze.

She surprises you by taking off your glasses, then _tsk_ ing as she sets them on the counter. “Oh, darling, you’re all bruised up,” she says, and you find a reflective surface to check—the glass on the china cabinet is decent enough, and you can see purple stretching underneath your eyes. Sure, you don’t get much sleep so you always have bags, but this is much more pronounced. You hear Glenys take a deep breath, and then she says, “If your father—”

“It wasn’t him,” you say fast, because you’d be dumb to not know she hadn’t suspected for years that he didn’t treat you right and it wasn’t fair for you to throw him under the bus. “I pissed Cronus off.”

Glenys cups your cheek for a second, and you close your eyes, thinking that this is the only bit of affection you’d gotten since Fef left you, and too soon it’s gone. “You two are still fighting like alley cats, then?”

“As you can probably tell, it’s not much of a fight,” you say bitterly, lightly kicking the side of the island. Your shoe leaves a scuff mark and your stomach drops, because you can’t do _anything_ without fucking up and acting like a petulant little _shit_ —

“Is your father out of town?” she asks, and you nod slowly. “I’ll have a talk with him when he gets back.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you protest fast.

“Well, we’ll see what I do,” she sighs, leaning over to pat your knee. “I hate seeing you all torn up, kiddo. I haven’t seen you ‘round in months and _this_ is how you show up? I don’t like that at all.”

You question, “Why don’t you hate me?” before you think it through, and then come to the conclusion that you have no sense, because that’ll make her remember that she _does_ hate you and she’ll kick you out and make you go home to your fuckwit brother.

“Sweetie, I _could_ never hate you,” she says, giving your knee an extra pat. “I’ve known you since you were up to my knee. And I know you and Feffy had a fight, but that’s in the past.”

“No it’s not!” you exclaim, and you find that you want someone to hold you so you wrap your arms around yourself, biting the inside of your lip so you don’t cry. “ _She_ hates me!”

“She doesn’t,” Glenys says evenly, and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see her blurry sympathetic expression out of the corner of your eye. “Now, I know what you said to her, and I know what she said to you. There’s some pretty dang mean stuff between the two of you, but I know for a _fact_ that if you went up to her and apologized, she’d put the whole thing behind her, because she misses you like hell.”

“Why do _I_ have to apologize?” you demand, sounding like a shithead. “She started it! She said that _I_ didn’t care and that _I_ was too draining to be around and—and she said that I was a waste of fuckin’ space that should just _die_ —”

Glenys gets up and takes a step closer as she wraps her arms around you; you bury your face in her shoulder (your nose hits her collar bone and it _hurts_ , so you adjust) and tell yourself to shut up, stop fucking crying like a bloody imbecile and grit your teeth, who cares that the poor little rich boy hates himself?

Rubbing slow circles in your back, Glenys murmurs, “Feffy’s never wanted you dead, not for a _second_ , she’s just frustrated because she _loves_ you…”

You don’t want to hear her empty words but you listen to her voice, calm and soothing. It takes too long for you to make yourself put a lid on it and pull back, wiping at your eyes and trying not to sniffle because that hurts, even wiping under your nose makes sharp pains jolt across your cheekbones. “Sorry,” you say, sounding even more clogged.

Glenys just gets you ice.

She lets you stay for hours, giving you some space and you don’t leave until you’re sure Cronus has left to go partying. You don’t want to be home alone with him for the next few days—even though you like not going to school, spring break sucks in that respect—but you figure if you just take some food and water up into your room, you won’t have to venture out until your dad gets back. After all, your private bathroom is connected to _just_ your room, so it’s not like you’ll have to unlock your bedroom door for anything.

Before you go, Glenys envelopes you in another hug and says, “Feffy is going to the mall with Sollux on Friday. Do you want to come by at around one o’clock for more tea?”

Your throat closes with a flash of hatred for Sol, but you just clench your teeth and nod. “Don’t… don’t tell her I was here. Like this.”

“Alright, dear,” she says, and before she can add anything else, you dart down the steps and head home, nose still aching dully and feeling emotionally drained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, have some feelings!


	16. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt: in celebration of our first canon smile of the seadweller son, perhaps an aquariusverse fic where feferi and eridan have a really awesome day together post-reconcilation arc and eridan finally grins genuinely for the first time in what seems like forever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about that smile that _may_ not match the majority, but I will keep my opinions to myself. This turned out a little bittersweet, but I hope you like it!

It takes you almost three months post-reconciliation to realize that Eridan doesn’t really smile anymore.

He was never big on it before, when it was just his personality, but now his normally dour disposition has been mixed with what you’re fairly certain is clinical depression (and who the hell knows what else), so he mostly keeps his emotions to himself, any faint upturn of his lips blatantly forced because he knows you’re watching.

The day your epiphany comes, you think back, combing over memories and moments to try to figure out the last time you saw him genuinely happy. You remember a time during a Dungeons and Dragons campaign two months ago, when he did _something_ cool—you don’t remember what—and he got this smug, victorious smirk on his face that didn’t fade for a while, and he was back to his haughty self. You don’t like Eridan being self-satisfied, but you hate him empty even more, so you guess it’s _something_.

 _Happy_ , you try to remember as he sits next to you in history, tapping his pen on his chin and staring at the board. _When was he happy?_

Your knee-jerk answer is _never_. You were a happy kid, and now you’re a pretty happy teenager, but from what you understand from old stories, Eridan was a bitch of a toddler. You know from experience that his personality as a kid was petulant, but he was also curious and smart and quick; those parts of him sang to you and drew you to him, because even though your personalities were opposites, your similar interests and _your_ willingness to compromise kept you together for the most part. Though he had his moments of glee, you never would’ve described him as a naturally happy person, and that was okay for the most part; not everyone has to exude positivity like you do, Eridan was just mellow.

But this is different. After much deliberation, you come to the conclusion that the last time he _genuinely_ smiled and laughed was while you two were watching a Parks and Recreation blooper reel, before your fight. It’s a very superficial reason, since happiness isn’t really the factor behind his reaction, but it’s all you can think of.

At this point, Eridan finally notices you starting at him instead of your teacher, and he raises his eyebrows, the tip of his pen caught between his teeth. With a slight nod, he motions towards the front of the room.

“Miss Peixes?” your teacher says, sounding impatient. “Answer my question.”

Crap, you weren’t paying attention. Glancing at Eridan’s notes before turning back to her, you tentatively say, “Um… Matthew Perry?”

There’s a snort from somewhere behind you, and your teacher just rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll have plenty of time to talk to Mr. Ampora after class, so please pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, chastised. You can feel Eridan smirking at you—it’s an upturn of one side of his lips, but not a smile. You don’t look at him.

Even though you’re no longer watching him, your mind is made up. The weekend is coming up, and you’re going to make him have fun.

 

* * *

 

Meenah complains the whole way to the zoo. You and Eridan are only fifteen so you can’t drive yet, so you decided to take advantage of the few months your sister will still be in town by making her take you to the zoo almost an hour away. She’s just going to drop you off before going to the mall, which suits you just fine—you still haven’t spent that much time alone with Eridan since the fight, and he’s more likely to be open with his feelings when he’s with you than when he is with a few people.

You spend the hot day completing the zoo circuit, seeing all of the exhibits and getting the chance to pet stingrays and feed giraffes. Most of the day you lead him around, having him follow you this way and that as you try to see everything you can and show him every detail. This is, to be quite honest, exhausting, and by four o’clock you let Eridan push you around instead as you give him directions where to go next, reading from the map you got with your tickets.

Despite the haze of contentment that seems to be exuding from him, you haven’t seen him smile at all. You’d heard excitement leak into his voice at certain times—“look, Fef, these are the birds that made the t-rex sounds in Jurassic Park, aren’t they massive?” and “this tuxedo penguin likes me, I think he’s attracted to someone who’s just as well-dressed as he is”—but never saw a real _smile_. Near the end of the day, you come to a table to drink slushies as you wait for Meenah to pick you up, frustration beginning to leak from your pores.

Eridan picks up on your mood. Quirking an eyebrow, he asks, “Something wrong?”

Holding in a sigh, you question, “Did you have fun?”

He blinks hard, taking a sip of his slushy before answering, “Of course I did, today was great.”

You feel like he’s going to say something else, but he breaks off with a sudden, almost hard laugh, showing all his teeth with a brief grin before pursing his lips forcefully, obviously holding back a smile. You’re even more surprised be he was by the laugh, and before confused satisfaction can envelop you in earnest, you look over your shoulder to see what caught Eridan’s eye.

A large man was carrying two slushies and must’ve tripped while you had your back turned, spilling one drink on the pavement and another all over his shirt. He’s sitting on the ground, extending a hand to a woman that’s reaching to help him up, and you turn back to Eridan sharply as another snort bursts from him.

“Oh, Fef, you missed it,” he laments, mirth crinkling around his eyes, “it was like a fuckin’ infomercial—”

“Why are you so _mean_?” you snap rapidly, surprising both of you with your tone. It only takes a second for you to realize why you’re so irate: you’ve tried _so hard,_ all day, to get him to smile and laugh, and the only time he did it was watching someone else’s misfortune. Bitterness wells within you, because he’s so mean-spirited and you should’ve _known_ anything you tried wouldn’t work because you don’t like humor at the expense of other people but that’s all Eridan gets off on. This was stupid. This whole day was a waste.

Eridan’s expression is wounded for a brief moment, but he soon gets defensive. “If you’d seen it, you would’ve laughed too. He’s not hurt, everything’s fine!”

(No, everything’s _not_ fine, he’s wearing long-sleeves when it’s eighty fucking degrees in the shade—)

“I’ve been trying to make you happy all day,” you say. “All day! But no, that was for nothing if this is all it took.”

His face closes off, going back to emptiness not because that’s what he’s feeling but because that’s what he wants you to _see_ , condescendingly enunciating, “I _was_ happy. I enjoyed myself, and I am _so sorry_ that you were forced to spend the day with me.”

“Then why didn’t you smile?” you demand, propping your elbows on the table and leaning forward, slushy forgotten. “That’s what I was doing all day, just trying to get you to _smile_ —”

He snorts. “That’s it? You care about something so superficial, so _artificial_ , instead of my actual emotions? You want a fuckin’ smile? Here it is. Bask in it.” He grins for you. It’s one of his forced ones where he looks almost constipated, and it makes you want to cry.

As you come up with an answer, he takes a long sip of his cotton candy-flavored slushy. It turns his tongue blue, and when you were little, he would’ve stuck his tongue out at you and you would’ve showed him your purple one, and you would’ve laughed together. You miss that.

“You _promise_ you had fun?” you say, voice shaking.

Realizing how close you are to frustrated tears, he reaches a hand across the table. You take it a little reluctantly. “I did,” he says softly. “Lots of it. Did you?”

Nodding, you guess you’ll have to take his word for it. Reaching for your drink, you sip it, not yet willing to let go of his hand.

 

* * *

 

Later, when you’re back at your house playing a video game and you both fuck up in a spectacular fashion, you nearly laugh yourself to tears. As you try to salvage the situation, you glance up at him as he’s taunting you to see a big, unabashed grin on his face.

You jostle his shoulder with your forehead as you try to catch up to him, feeling warm to the pit of your stomach. Sometimes, you guess this is all it takes.


End file.
